


these hands don't fix, they break

by wandering_gypsy_feet



Series: moonshine soaked flames [2]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 60,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28529355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet
Summary: Sequel to 'no red thread but a bowstring' but from Daryl's POV.From the moment Daryl Dixon arrives on her daddy's farm, he has no idea how the universe keeps handing him the gift that is Beth Greene.A comprehensive look at Beth and Daryl's relationship, from season 2 to season 5, including a fix it for coda. Beythl moments, piece by piece, in the context of canon.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Series: moonshine soaked flames [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089878
Comments: 162
Kudos: 139





	1. The First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god oh my god oh my god okay here it is
> 
> it's daryl's pov!!! 
> 
> we go alllllllll the way back to the farm now (remember the good old days??) for BABY DARYL

**Daryl Dixon doesn't even know who the hell Beth Greene is.**

Bad to worse.

That's always been the trend of Daryl's life. Things start out bad. Then they get worse. Then he somehow gets used to the worse, which makes it only bad again. Then things get worse.

Bad enough, being born the younger brother of Merle Dixon. Worse to be the son of Will Dixon.

Bad enough that there's a fucking apocalypse going down around them. Worse that he had to leave his brother behind.

Bad enough that he's a no good redneck asshole. Worse that he's a no good redneck asshole tagging along with fine, upstanding citizens and trying to fit in, like he somehow belongs with them.

Bad enough that they're camped out on some highway in Georgia, with Sophia missing. Worse that now they're heading off to some farm, some idyllic scene with the big house and the wraparound porch and the hanging swing like it's a damn 1950's sitcom.

Bad enough that the old man standing on the porch looks out at them like they're the scum of the earth, especially Daryl, the long haired man in a leather vest driving up on a motorcycle. Worse that he's got a pretty girl beside him, shining like a holy angel. White top, blonde hair, blue eyes, all wide and scared and shining, not a single word coming out of her mouth. She's beautiful, like a delicate little flower or some otherwise corny shit. She looks like the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.

Daryl doesn't look at her. Daryl knows better. Daryl is no idiot. Because falling for a girl like her?

Like he's always said, bad to worse.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**Daryl Dixon doesn't know why he even cares about Beth Greene.**

He doesn't want to go into the house. He really doesn't want to go anywhere near that stupid fucking house. But Lori's words are still ringing in his ears — _"Beth's gone in some kind of catatonic shock."_ — and his utterly cold response — _"Yeah? So what?"_

So what? She isn't one of his to care about. She is just another kid, another girl who will never survive in this new hell that is their world. She is too young, too fragile, too weak. Daryl doesn't care. Daryl shouldn't care.

But the guilt nags at him. It pulls at him as he tries to distract himself, to keep his hands busy, to stop thinking about those that he cannot save and those that he'll always be bound to lose. He's not some hero. He learned that lesson, painfully, with Sophia and the barn. He can't fool himself anymore into thinking that he's the good sort, that he deserves the ones around him, that he deserves anything good. He's a Dixon. Of course he doesn't.

But he can't stop replaying that moment over and over in his head. All of it. Shane opening the barn. The people that had come out, people that weren't people anymore but still were somehow because they had names and stories. And he'd shot at them; he'd shot at the woman with red hair with a white streak in it, wearing a dress that once had been pretty. He'd shot her right in the face, but didn't kill her.

He'd shot Beth's mother but didn't kill her. He is the reason that Beth had almost died. The guilt of another lost girl on his shoulders... No. No. No. He can't. He can't do this anymore. He doesn't care about these people. He doesn't care about _anything._ He's Daryl fucking Dixon. He's not a team player. So what if she's in some kind of coma because he shot her mother in front of her and then as a walker, she'd tried to bite her daughter, tried to kill her. So what?

_So what?_

He's on his feet before he can stop himself, reluctantly dragging himself towards the house. He doesn't want to go. He's not even sure why he's going. He shouldn't. He should stay way the hell away from Beth Greene, her being a crazy girl and all. Avoid, avoid, avoid. He can hear Merle's voice in his head — _"Her daddy ain't gonna let you in a hundred feet of her, who do you think you are?"_ — but he has to go. He has to say something.

Even if it's just sorry.

He edges into the house carefully, like he'll be chased out if he dares step a foot onto the shiny, polished wood floors. It’s a nice house. It’s too nice a house, which is the problem. Daryl is used to messy trailers, to cigarette butts on the ground and stains that won’t ever come out. He’s not used to the love, the care that oozes out of every corner of the Greene house. It threatens to overwhelm him, choke him, so he quickly heads to where he can hear soft voices coming from.

It’s Patricia who’s sitting at Beth’s bedside. If it was anyone else, he might’ve turned on his heel and ran out, left before anyone had a chance to see him for what he is — some dumb hick trying to be a good man. No one has ever taught him how. But Daryl would like to learn and he thinks he wants to try. Patricia looks up when he awkwardly shuffles his feet in the doorway, her gaze suspicious at once.

“Wanted to say sorry,” Daryl mumbles to his chest, glancing at Beth. She’s just lying there in the bed, blonde hair spread over that pillow like a golden halo. She stares aimlessly at the ceiling like he remembers his mama doing, when she was drunk. But Beth’s mouth isn’t slack like his mama’s had been and her eyes aren’t glassed over. She just looks… Still. And it’s all his fault, because he killed her mama without killing her mama and made Beth suffer even more until she’d had a breakdown.

“Sorry?” Patricia looks like he’s come with the intent of stealing Beth away. He gives an awkward little shrug, not sure how to express the roiling feeling in his stomach. He wishes Beth was alone, that he could do this without watching eyes.

“For what happened. At the barn,” he clarifies and Patricia’s frown softens some as she looks down at Beth, tenderly brushing a lock of hair back.

“She’ll be okay, just a shock,” she assures him, patting Beth’s hand with so much fondness it makes Daryl's throat hurt. “She’s just a little girl.”

Yeah, she is. And that reminds Daryl that he has no place here, no place at all. Beth Greene is an angel or a saint, and he’s a dirty hick pretending he belongs some grand house. It’s his fault. He’s the fuckup. All his fault.

He turns and flees, not sure he feels better at all.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**Daryl Dixon wonders if maybe he does know Beth Greene.**

They all think Andrea’s lost her mind. They all think that she’s gone insane, that she’s done something so terrible and awful and atrocious that she’s past the point of redemption.

Daryl thinks she has a good fucking point.

The thing is, Daryl Dixon knows what it’s like. He knows what it’s like to look at a world so ugly and horrible that it seems like there’s no point in going on anymore. He knows what it’s like to think that it would all be better, just to take that out, that exit. It’s not like his life was one worth living in the early years, between the beatings and the lack of food and the taunts from the other kids. It’d be better if he wasn’t there and plenty of times he'd contemplated what that'd take.

It’s been one of those facts of life that he’s always known. The world is round, the sky is blue, and no one would mourn him if he was gone beside Merle.

Well, Merle’s gone now. So no one’s left.

But she didn’t do it. She didn’t actually cut hard enough or in the right direction (you slice up, not across, everyone knows that) so Andrea seems convinced that the girl has chosen life. Good thing too, because everyone in camp is shitting it about what happened. So some stupid teenager decided to opt out? That’s not his problem.

Daryl’s decided no more little girls being his problem. It’s not worth it.

But he sees her afterwards, when Maggie walks her down to the porch, holding her hand and showing her the sunset. Beth doesn’t seem to be taking any of it in, thin and pale. He’s splitting firewood for lack of anything else to do, and he glances up to see her standing there like a ghost or a wisp, like she could be blown over by one strong gust of wind. Something inside him tugs, deep within his chest. She reminds him of something delicate, something fragile but no less beautiful for it.

She won’t last in this world, no matter what choice she made to live. He shouldn’t care, but it breaks his heart a little bit.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**Daryl Dixon doesn’t want Beth Greene to know the real him.**

Daryl wants to support Dale. He does. There’s a part of him, deep down, that thinks the old man has a point. Daryl has never killed anyone before. Fuck, he’s pretty sure that even Merle hasn’t killed anyone before. At least, not directly. But that’s not a distinction that Daryl feels matters right now. Sure, this world is shit. But killing someone? Killing a _kid?_

But it has to be done. Because if they let him go, he knows where they are. They lose the safety of the farm. They fought so hard to get somewhere safe and this kid could ruin everything. The things he said about the other group, the way the kid had talked about what they’d done to the other women… Daryl doesn’t want to be responsible for anything like that. And they can’t take down 30 armed men. Not with their little group of old men, women, and kids with only a few real fighters amongst them.

It’s been going around in his head all day. Circles. He’s fucking sick of it. He doesn’t like to think this much, doesn’t like to be this conflicted, doesn’t like feeling so uncomfortable. And for what? Let Rick make the decision. Daryl will help him carry it out. Because Daryl has to prove his worth. He has to be willing to do the hard things. It’s what he can do, to step up for these people.

But it doesn’t mean he wants to kill the kid. He just doesn’t see any other way.

“This group is broken,” Dale mutters to him bitterly and brokenly on the way out and Daryl’s been saying that from the start, but it still hurts.

His daddy always said he ruined everything he touched, so it stands to reason that he’d find a family and break it apart just like the last one.

No one says a word when Dale leaves. Rick is doing that thing where he talks to Lori with nothing but his eyes. Daryl is sick of all of this, so he turns, only to go still. Beth is standing in the doorway to the bedroom where she’s been staying, like she’s been listening. Hershel has specifically not brought her to the living room and everyone else still treats her like glass. But she doesn’t seem like glass here. She’s watching Daryl with a little frown.

He has the odd sense that she’s seeing right through him. She studies his face intently, and then her eyes drift down to his knuckles. They’re still bloody and they ache; he subconsciously flexes his hand before realizing that she can see him do it.

He’s not sure why the look on her face hurts him. Because she has to know. Has to know that he’s the one who beat the kid to get information out of him. Fine. She better learn quick that he’s not like Rick, he’s not like her daddy, he's not like her stupid, gangly boyfriend. He’s not a good man. He’s the kind of guy who will beat a kid bloody in a shed. He’s the kind of guy that the group will ask to murder him, assuming that he’ll be fine with it, and he has to do it, to prove his value.

But she's looking at him like she sees exactly who he is.

It makes him uneasy.

* * *

**A life on the run together means that Daryl Dixon is getting to know Beth Greene.**

Fuck, but he is tired of this. Everyone is doing their best, they are. But if Carl comes out of another kitchen with another lone can of wet dog food, Daryl's going to launch himself directly into the sun. He can't stand this anymore. And the worst part is that it's partially his fault. If he could take down a deer, they could eat for a week.

They're sticking too close to the towns is the problem. He needs to get back out into the woods, where he can hunt properly. None of this running around suburbia, picking off squirrels and the odd possum. But they need houses to stay in, places with walls and doors that they can defend, where they can sleep safely.

He's so sick of this, the endless fear that drives them each day.

"Good haul tonight," Carl says as he comes out of the kitchen. Daryl is at the door, looking out for any other walkers who might've heard their approach while Maggie and Rick clear the rest of the house. "Even got some crackers. They're probably stale though..."

"They'll do perfectly." Lori kisses her son's head like he's brought them a steak and lobster dinner. Daryl's never had lobster before and probably never will now, but he wonders if it's good.

"Clear," Rick says, coming back down and nodding at him. Daryl nods back, grabbing the rest of his arrows. The sun isn't quite down yet; he could go off and hunt. Maybe find something decent to keep them all fed.

The fruits of his labors are three squirrels, a fox, and two rabbits. It's a decent haul, but it'll be gone soon enough. He wonders if he should ask Rick about going further out. If they could find a base, he could take a few days to track a deer or maybe a boar. Something, anything to give them more than a day's worth of food.

"Nicely done," Carol compliments him as he hands his kills off to her. "They'll go great with Carl's crackers."

He doesn't respond to her remark, instead looking over their group to make sure everyone is still there and in one piece. Lori is resting, her eyes shut and her hand on her growing belly, and beside her is Beth. But the girl isn't looking at Lori; she's staring with a sad expression at the fox.

"I always thought they were so pretty," she mutters to Carol. "All clever. Daddy hated that they'd get into the chicken coop but... I think that they're beautiful."

"Maybe Daryl can make it into a coat for you," Carol suggests teasingly and that seems to disturb Beth even more. She shakes her head and turns back to Lori, helping arrange her pillows, face somehow paler and even more pinched than usual.

They eat and then hunker down for the night, decently full. Daryl takes watch like he always does, sitting with his back to the group where he can see out the front windows. He'll get up in a little bit and do a perimeter check, make sure that things are still secure.

But first, he has to deal with the scuffling behind him.

He assumes it's just someone rolling over in their sleep. But then it continues and he glances over his shoulder to see that it's Beth, clearly asleep but twitching, her usually sweet face suddenly twisted up with anguish. Then she begins to whimper, a pitiful sort of sound. He wonders what the hell is wrong with her, if she —

Oh, she's dreaming. Or having a nightmare, most likely. Not surprising, given the world that they live in now. He watches her, hedging. Surely she'll wake herself up soon enough. And besides, he doesn't want anything to do with her. He shouldn't want anything to do with her. That's the promise he made himself after Sophia. No more helping little girls who were already good as dead.

Except she looks so helpless. So, rolling his eyes, he walks a few steps over to her, crouching down. He gently reaches out and touches her shoulder.

"Hey, Beth. Wake up. C'mon, wake up."

She comes to with a wild gasp, staring up at him with pure fear. He awkwardly leans as far away from her as he can without losing his balance, still perched on the balls of his feet.

"Oh, Daryl." she recognizes him then, sinking back a bit. He glances at the sleeping line of bodies to see if she's woken anyone else, but it seems to still just be them. "Sorry. I was having a nightmare."

"Go back to sleep," he orders her brusquely. "I got watch."

"Yeah." Beth rubs her head, like that's going to clear it of the bad dreams. She lays halfway back down and then winces, straightening up. "Actually, would you mind if I sat up with you for a little bit? It's still a bit... Fresh."

"Uh." he's hardly said more than ten words to the girl, no matter that they've been on the run together for weeks now. "Nah?"

"Thanks." Beth wraps herself up in a blanket and comes to sit by him at the window, staring out. He waits, apprehensively, for her to say or do something. To start chattering, like she does sometimes with Carl or her sister. He waits to be annoyed by her. But she doesn't say a word, just rests her chin on her knees and stares out into the darkness.

He's quiet too then. Well, if anyone can appreciate the silence, it's him. He looks out into the dark, but sometimes his eyes slide over to Beth. Her golden hair braided back, messy about the crown of her head. In the shadows of the night, she looks so young. It reminds him that he shouldn't be looking.

Eventually, her head starts to droop, slowly at first, then all at once. She's asleep with her head on her knees, sitting up. He observes her awkwardly for a moment, fighting every instinct in his body screaming at him to leave it the fuck alone. But tomorrow will be another day of running. And she should get some proper sleep. So he leans his crossbow against the wall, does another check that no one is coming, and then carefully wraps his arms around her.

She's heavier than she looks, he'll give her that. Grimacing and hoping like hell that her daddy doesn't wake up, he carries her back over to the group, putting her down and arranging her blanket over her. He straightens up and sees that she has a little smile on her face.

He grabs the crossbow. He's going to do a perimeter check, right now.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**Daryl Dixon gets the sense that Beth Greene knows what he thinks of her and she'll prove him wrong.**

"Daryl, you take point. T, left side, Maggie, right, and I'll do cover," Rick orders, as they pull up to a house that looks relatively clean and untouched. If they're lucky, there might still be beds and food inside. Unlikely, but worth thinking about.

It makes Daryl laugh to think that it used to take three of them to bring down a single walker. Not anymore. They've been working on a strategy — hit the frame of the house, wait for any walkers to be drawn by the noise, hold a tight formation to watch each other’s backs, kill walkers throughout the house, clear it, and then everyone else can come in. It's worked well. It keeps them safe.

Rick raps on the door with the butt of his Python then steps back. Daryl moves to the front, T and Maggie on either side. When he hears some shuffling and groaning within, he peeks through the window, trying to make out the number of walkers inside.

"Think there's only three or four," he mutters and Rick gives him a nod. Daryl backs up, aims his foot, and kicks down the door, stepping through in one quick motion, his crossbow up.

He gets the closest walker with an arrow, then reloads and aims for the other one on the stairs. Maggie gets one coming at her, and T takes down the other one. For a second, they pause, waiting for more to come. When there's nothing but silence, Rick nods and hands Daryl the spent arrows.

Daryl heads upstairs. Rick takes the basement. T and Maggie do the main floor together. He doesn't find any other walkers upstairs, so he comes back down, nodding to T and Maggie. Rick meets them at the top of the stairs, eyebrows raised.

"Clear," Maggie declares and Rick opens the door, giving a sharp whistle. The rest of their group spills in.

"This place is nice," Carol remarks, helping Carl bring in the bags. "Think we can stay for a little bit? It's getting colder out there."

"I can look for some more blankets," Beth offers, from where she's setting up Lori's things.

"That'd be good," her father states and Beth gets up, her gun hanging from her hand, disappearing down the hall. Daryl is just thinking about if he's going to get to hunt today when there's a scream from deep inside the house, followed by a gunshot.

"Beth!" Maggie is gone at a run, thundering through the house. Daryl follows, on high alert, trying to push off any of the feelings of panic. Yeah, he thinks all the time that Beth Greene is too good for this world, too soft to survive it. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't feel fear at the very idea of that happening. Things have been going so good. They've been keeping it together, keeping each other safe, but now this?

Crossbow raised, he turns the corner to find Beth standing in what appears to be a laundry room, shaking. She's covered in gore, a dead walker lying at her feet. Maggie gives something between a gasp and a sob, grabbing her sister's shoulder.

"Are you bit?" Daryl asks her, a little more roughly than he should. Beth shakes her head, tears running down her face. He turns to Maggie, unable to stop his rising fury. "Thought you cleared this level!"

"We did." Maggie is crying as well, holding Beth tightly. "I — I looked in here. There was nothing."

"Closet," Beth mutters and Daryl sees an open door. The thing must've been trapped in there, somehow. He looks down at the corpse, surprised to see the bullet hole directly between the eyes. Well, at least she remembered what they said about the head.

"Is she okay?" the rest of the group has arrived now, wide eyed and alarmed. They crowd around Beth and Daryl rolls his eyes, shooing them all back.

"She killed it, she's fine," he says dismissively. "Just a walker, ain't nothing we've all done before."

"Yeah, but it's her first." Carol gives him a stern look and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. Nobody coddled him after his first kill — fuck, Merle had laughed his ass off and said — _"Finally figured out it needs to be the head, did you dumbass?"_ — before walking away.

She's fine. She's gonna have to be fine. That's what this new world demands.

And hell, he's not going to baby her.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**Daryl Dixon doesn't know why he does what he does for Beth Greene.**

Fuck.

It's cold.

This is Georgia. It's not suppose to be this fucking cold.

Daryl found a horse blanket last week that he fashioned as a poncho. It's about the only thing keeping him alive right now. It's so fucking cold. They're all miserable, huddling together in some house. Even Daryl is sticking close to the group. It's too dangerous to be by oneself right now.

They need shit to keep them warm. They're going to freeze if they don't. Even wrapped in clothes and blankets, they need things like coats. And hats. And mittens. Or they're going to start losing fingers and toes to the chill that permeates every inch of this place.

And Rick had been wrong. The fucking cold is useless against the walkers. In fact, it seems to make them hungrier. They are unbothered by the wind blowing, encroaching ever closer. It's been a bad winter already. This is only making it worse.

Daryl's used to that.

"Rick," he mutters, as they bed down for the night. Rick, busy trying to cover both Carl and Lori with a single, ratty blanket, glances up. "We gotta go find shit. This ain't enough."

"I know." it's the weight of the world on Rick's shoulders and the man slumps, his blue eyes tired.

"We leave them here tomorrow, head towards the strip mall." Daryl likes having a plan.

"You sure you won't freeze?" Rick raises an eyebrow and Daryl shrugs.

"I'll take the truck."

"Alright." Rick looks ill at ease but has to give up with a little shrug. "Yeah, go first thing in the morning."

They just have to not freeze to death in the night. Easier said than done.

Carl wakes up groggy. Hershel straightens his legs with a pained grimace. Beth's lips look blue. And Lori just stays huddled under the blankets. Daryl wastes no more time; gas is running low but they can't wait any longer. So he takes off and heads into town, desperate for a sporting goods store or something. Anything.

The world went to shit in the spring. All the light clothes should be picked over, but hopefully he can find heavy shit for winter. He sees the strip mall and slows, squinting to read the names on the storefronts. He pulls up dead when he sees a Colombia. He parks and heads in, wearing his bow, half a dozen knives and a gun.

It's been hit, of course. Mannequins turned over, clothes everywhere. He picks through it all, seeing tank tops and shorts. That won't do any good. Refusing to get discouraged, he checks out the shoes, frowning at the empty boxes. Hope sinking, he makes his way to the back. It seems mostly intact, so he heads towards the big boxes stacked on the shelves, half forgotten.

It's the motherlode. Last season's castoffs, probably. Meant for clearance or something else, but he finds a shipment of coats. The next box is full of hats, mittens, scarves. He shoves it all into his bag, taking a moment to stuff a knit hat over his cold ears and then shrugs on a coat. Well, the sizes won't be perfect but it'll do.

He navigates back out, heading towards the house. He keeps the heat on full blast in the truck. If they had the gas, they could huddle in the cars and run them all day, but it's getting harder and harder to find fuel. That'll be what the coats are for then. He gets back, stomach rumbling, to see faint smoke coming out of the chimney from the house he'd left them in. It'll broadcast their location, sure, but the alternative is freezing.

"Hey." Rick comes out of the house, looking haggard. "Find anything? I think Maggie's about to lose some toes."

"Yeah." Daryl hands over the bag; Rick's jaw drops when he looks inside and then he claps Daryl's back and rushes inside. When Daryl follows him in, they're already distributing the clothes, pulling them on with sighs of relief. Carl gets a scarf wrapped around him three times by Lori, laughing and trying to fight his mother off.

Daryl's fingers close around the blue stocking hat that he'd picked because it matches the color of Beth's eyes. He didn't know that at the time, but now it's hard to ignore the comparison. He offers it to her without looking.

"Thanks," she says softly, cold fingers brushing his as she takes it.

Cheeks flaming, he reaches inside the bag to find her gloves too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys i would love to hear all the thoughts. 
> 
> writing in daryl's pov was super interesting and challenging... and so gimme all the feedback. 
> 
> what you expected? not at all? any scenes you really wanna see? just wanna reminisce about the old bike in the comments? join me


	2. And The Moments Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST EVER 
> 
> thank you for the love and support. chapter 2, aka all of season 3. 
> 
> plz enjoy

**Daryl Dixon doesn’t know Beth Greene, can’t even comprehend her.**

His heart has finally stopped racing. It’s been going all day, like that time Merle gave him some acid and then swore up and down that it was fine while Daryl went on one hell of a bad trip. Between the fact that Hershel got his fucking leg chopped off, that they found those survivors, then killed half the survivors, and now coming back to Carol just making them dinner… It’s a wonder his heart hasn’t beat right out of his chest. So he takes the bowl of whatever it is and retreats for a bit of peace and solitude, where he can decompress.

The worst part is that he thinks it might not even be the craziest day that they’ve ever had.

Beth is sitting with her father in the cell where they placed him. He’s resting, eyes shut and breathing long and slow. Daryl pauses outside the cell, looking in. Beth is at her father's side, holding his hand and watching him sleep, singing something under her breath. Daryl doesn’t know the song, but it’s nice. She’s got a pretty voice, the kind that doesn’t need instruments or autotune. Real… Pure. Kinda like her, if he thinks about it.

"By a lonely prison wall, I heard a young man calling. 'Nothing matters Mary, when you're free’. Against the famine and the crown, I rebelled, they brought me down. Now you must raise our children with dignity…. Now it's lonely round the Fields of Athenry…”

He must make a noise because she looks up and trails off, giving him a tired smile that seems a little sad. He feels bad for disturbing her, taking a bite of food before he can stop himself and then realizing how rude that is, so he mumbles around a mouthful. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Beth sounds exhausted. He wonders if she ate. “I was just singing to him. He always liked it so much.”

“Yeah.” Daryl has spent a lot of the winter watching Hershel Greene and the delight he takes in the talents of his daughters.

“Carol make food?” Beth asks him, looking at his bowl with curiosity. So she hasn’t eaten then. For a wild second, he thinks about sticking the bowl out to her and offering his, but she’s seen him eat from it. No way she’d want his germs all over her. So he just nods.

“I can sit with him,” he offers, when he sees the worried look Beth shoots her father.

“Would you?” she looks like he’s offered to personally build her a mansion and deliver her there in a golden carriage. It’s mostly for his benefit anyways — it’ll be quiet in the cell with Hershel asleep and silence will help calm his rattled nerves.

“G’on,” he orders, jerking his chin and Beth gives her father’s hand another squeeze before rising. She drops an affectionate kiss on Hershel’s forehead and Daryl finds his chest has gone oddly tight.

“I’ll be right back,” she promises to both of them and then scoots past Daryl, her shoulder brushing his in the tight quarters. Daryl just nods and then goes to sit at the chair Beth left. It’s still warm. He won’t hold Hershel’s hand, because he needs both hands to eat, but he thinks that maybe he can talk to the man, lowly. A few times on the road this winter, Hershel had bent a listening ear when Daryl needed to talk about hunting or plans for supplies.

“Glad you’re alright,” he says lowly, the most important information. And he is glad. Daryl’s never had a father, or never had one worthy of that title before. Will Dixon was a mean old bastard, so Daryl mostly tries to forget him each and every day on this earth. But Hershel isn’t like that. Never raises a hand. Hell, he hardly raises his voice in anger. And he loves Beth and Maggie so much. Sometimes Daryl catches him looking at the girls with pride shining in his eyes and Daryl has a childish twinge of want — that someone will look at him that way, be so proud of him. “We, uh… We need you. Beth and Maggie need you, but the rest of us too.”

_Me too, I need you too,_ is what he thinks but doesn’t say. Because he does need Hershel, the man who’s seen him at his best and his worst. Hershel, who always compliments him on the food he brings back. Who thanked him, with a strong handshake, the time that he’d saved Maggie when she got cornered by walkers when they were trying to get more ammo at some hunting store. Hershel isn’t his daddy. Fuck, no. But when he tells Daryl he did good, it feels good. It feels like that thing that he’s always wanted, back when he was still some kid who didn’t know any better, that assholes like him don’t get happy endings.

Hershel doesn’t respond to any of this, to Daryl’s words or his thoughts. Daryl didn’t expect him to. It’s a goddamn miracle he survived in the first place — even Merle, tough son-of-a-bitch, only lost a hand. Hershel lost the lower third of his leg with a walker bite, and yet he’s still lying here in the cell, snoring like he’s just taking a Sunday afternoon nap in the Georgia heat. Daryl doesn’t believe in miracles. Doesn’t believe in faith. But hell, he might have to start believing in Hershel Greene.

“Hey.” Beth’s voice is soft from the cell door. “I can take back over, if you want to go back with the others.” she’s holding her own bowl and a spoon.

“Nah.” he wants to stay. It’s peaceful here and he needs that. “Quiet’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” Beth agrees and he wonders if she could hear her daddy’s screams from here before he passed out. God knows Daryl can’t get them out of his head. Beth sits on the floor as he tries to rise out of the chair. She shakes her head and he sinks back down, uneasy. Beth, to her credit, doesn’t say anything. And she doesn’t resume singing either. She just gives him the silence he needs, the clatter of spoon against bowl the only noise beside Hershel’s steady breathing and little snores.

“You’re real lucky,” he tells her finally, against his will. He doesn’t know why he says it, because none of this feels lucky. Her daddy is maimed, lying in a half-rotted prison filled with the dead when she should be worried about prom and graduation or some shit. But he wants her to know how lucky she is to have a daddy who loves her at all, who would never hurt her, or Maggie, or anyone else. Because Will Dixon would slap you as soon as look at you. Bad blood.

Beth doesn’t have a drop of anything bad in her and sometimes Daryl thinks he’s overflowing with the stuff.

“I know.” she looks at her daddy with that same tired, sad smile, like she’s happy but it’s not enough. And maybe it’s not.

She lets them finish out their meal in silence, which is nice because it’s what Daryl had wanted.

But he doesn’t think he would’ve minded it if she started singing again.  
  


* * *

  
  


**Daryl Dixon doesn’t know when Beth Greene changed, but it probably had to do with the baby.**

_Not her. Not her. Not her._

The words thunder in his head like a mantra or some shit. Fear coils and uncoils in his gut, hot and painful. A newborn baby in this world? With no mom left? Babies need their moms. This baby needed Lori, needed her milk, her love, her nurture. And instead she’s just got a dirty old hick on a desperate formula run with a dead possum. _Can’t feed possum to a newborn, jackass,_ some voice snarls from the back of his head that sounds a lot like Merle.

He shakes it off. They’re almost back. They’ve got everything they need. Bottles. Formula. It’ll be enough. It’ll have to be enough. Cause no way, nuh-uh, _not her._ They’re not losing anyone else, but especially not that little girl, no matter what. Daryl will fight like hell for that. For her. They just have to make it back in time. And he can tell that Maggie has the same fear, her fingers digging into his sides where she holds on as he pushes the bike faster and faster.

_Not her. Not her. Not her._

Getting into the prison is easy. He doesn’t even bother to properly park the bike where it should go — just pulls up as close as he can to their cell block door. Maggie’s off before he even cuts the engine and has the kickstand out but he doesn’t begrudge her that. When she yanks open the door, he hears the sweet, sweet cry of a hungry baby.

_Not her. Not her. Not her._

“Beth.” Maggie practically throws the bag at her little sister. Good. They probably babysat lots of kids. They’ll know what they’re doing. Daryl heads right for Carl, who is holding the squalling infant. Rick is still nowhere to be found, but that’s a problem for another time. First things first.

"How's she doing?” he asks Carl, taking the squirming baby, who is still wrapped in nothing but a flannel. They’ll need to get proper clothes and blankets for her soon and probably a crib too. But this is okay for now, if they can just feed her. “Shh."

"I'm sorry,” Carl mutters and Daryl isn’t sure if it’s to him or to the baby or to whoever.

“Shh…” he replies, giving the girl a little bounce before something crashes into his arm. He looks up to see Beth, eyes wide and frightened, offering him a bottle, watching the baby instead of him. He takes it, trying to nudge it into the baby’s squalling mouth. "Come on. Come on,” he pleads gently, feeling Beth’s nails contract on his bicep. For some reason, he is struck with an odd flash of something — something that he can’t quite name but mostly centers around a thought that goes ‘beth?’ and ‘baby?’ and then a twist deep in his gut. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it though — to his relief, the baby has taken the bottle and is suckling, her cries tapering off. He raises his eyes with a grin to see that Beth is crying, eyes still on the little girl’s face. "She got a name yet?"

"Not yet,” Carl sighs, a kid who never got to be a kid. "But I was thinking maybe Sophia. Then there's Carol, too. And... Andrea. Amy. Jacqui. Patricia. Or... Lori. I don't know.”

The weight of those they've lost hangs heavy over them. If they’re going to name this little girl after all their dead, she’ll never stop getting names. And why burden her with that anyways, why burden themselves with the constant memory of those they could not save? Daryl doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to keep reliving Sophia in that barn, Carol just being gone, the way Lori had been here one minute and not the next. It’s too hard.

_Not her. Not her. Not her._

No, this little girl is alive and they’re going to keep her that way.

"You like that? Huh?” he asks the baby instead, smiling. He’s always liked kids, no matter that Merle called him a sissy for it. Babies are nice. Babies don’t care about who you are. And he’d had plenty of kids dropped into his lap before, from the kinds of people who came calling for his dad or Merle. He’s picked up a few tips and tricks. And this little girl looks like a fighter, through and through. "Little ass-kicker. Right? That's a good name, right?” he asks, looking up with a smile to see the sad laughter from everyone. He half expects Beth to tell him to mind his mouth. "Little ass-kicker. You like that, huh? You like that, sweetheart?”

Yeah. She’s going to beat this world, because Daryl Dixon is going to protect her. He’s going to make sure she never wants for anything, make sure she’s always healthy and happy and loved. He’ll be there for her. He’ll fight off the bad guys. He’d promised himself no more getting attached, but it’s pretty impossible not to, with those dark eyes and that little nose. Yeah, he’s wrapped right around her finger.

He doesn’t mind, he thinks.

“You gonna burp her?” Beth asks him, when the little girl is done eating. Maggie and Glenn are arranging baby supplies, Carl is off scavenging for something better to wrap her in, and Hershel is looking worried about Rick. Oscar and Axel hang back, which is all well and good. Daryl isn’t sure he wants them getting within a hundred feet of this little girl, good guys or not.

“Fed her, didn’t I?” Daryl grunts, handing Beth the bottle and gingerly rearranging the baby on his shoulder. Beth wrinkles her nose.

“Daryl, your shirt —"

“It’ll wash,” he says flatly, and then starts to pat the baby's tiny back until he’s gotten a few tiny, tiny burps from her. “Aw, c’mon, that was some wimpy shit. Uncle Daryl’s gonna have to teach you how to do it right.”

“No you will not.” Beth swats the arm that isn’t full of infant. “She’ll have proper manners, not like you.”

“Yeah?” he gives her an amused look, still riding high on the fact that they’re going to keep this little girl safe and sound.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be yes sir and no ma’am and please and thank you till the sun goes down,” Beth informs him, smiling like a ray of goddamn sunshine at the little girl in his arms. When he shifts her again, Beth leans over her and Daryl can feel the warmth coming from her, can smell the top of her head. It’s suddenly all a bit too intimate. “You gonna change her diaper now too or is that my job?”

“Your job,” he declares and Beth smiles as she carefully takes the little girl from him, the transition a lot more seamless than it had been between him and Carl.

“I see how it is,” she whispers to the baby. “He gets all the fun and cuddles, I get all the dirty work. C’mon then baby girl, let’s get you all dry and warm, and see if your brother found you any blankets.”

Daryl will go on another run right now if there’s anything the baby needs. He would. But he watches Beth carry her over to where the supplies are and he thinks that she’s got it handled.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**It’s not easy for Daryl Dixon to know what Beth Greene’s thinking, but he knows when she’s mad.**

“Well.” Merle seems to be having the time of his life. He’s panting a little bit, covered in sweat and dirt and blood. “What’s next, boss?”

“Hey,” Daryl mutters to Rick, coming next to him on the fence. They both look at the inner yard — the one they worked so goddamn hard to clear — and that stupid truck with all the walkers. Daryl feels his heart sinking even further down. It’d already been a bad day with Merle, in the sticks, and now they’re cut off from the group, the gates smashed so every walker can just wander in through their front door. It’s worse.

Daryl wishes it would stop getting worse.

Rick doesn’t seem capable of speech. Daryl’s seen him dipping in and out of this bad place recently, like he’s holding it together only to lose it a little. It doesn’t bode well for them though, for him to be doing it now with them on the wrong side of the fence and everything blown to hell. They have to get back inside and quickly. He glances over at Merle, who’s still grinning and readying himself for the walkers appearing from the woods. Well, if no one else is going to step up.

He moves them down the fence, keeping them in tight formation. At least the dog run is still cleared. Rick has the keys. They’ll get in there, can move back up towards the prison. If it was him, he’d send the truck down to pick them up. But he has Merle with him, and inside the prison, the ‘fuck Merle Dixon’ club has convened. The only bonus is that he also has Rick, who they’ll have to rescue. He hopes the love for Rick outweighs the hatred for Merle. He does the odds in his head — Carol would come for him. Carl, maybe. Perhaps Beth. And Judith, if she could do anything.

He retrieves his arrows, drawing the bow again and leading them towards the now blown open gates. He has no idea how they’re going to fix that. He just wants everyone inside to be safe. That’s a possibility he hasn’t even thought about and now he can’t stop it. Who’s dead? Who will they have to burn instead of bury, because the walkers are here? He’s desperate to get back, even with Merle in tow. He just needs to make sure his people are okay. His people.

“Really nice place you got here, Darylina,” Merle drawls and Daryl ignores him, watching the gate up to the prison yard. He wills the truck to appear. Merle stabs a nearby walker through the eye, like he’s taking a stroll after church.

“They’ll bring the truck down.” Rick’s voice is hoarse, but when Daryl looks at him, he seems to be back. His eyes still look haunted, but that’s to be expected. “We get into the dog run, stay there. Hop in the back, you take down any walkers with your bow.”

“Yeah.” it’s similar enough to Daryl’s plan. But both hinge on the fact that they’re going to be rescued at all, and that whoever comes is willing to take Merle with them. Because Daryl’s not going anywhere without his brother. “Merle, c’mon.”

“Aw, but I’m having so much fun out here,” Merle mocks and Daryl grinds his teeth.

In the end, the truck does come to get them. It’s Carol at the wheel, which doesn’t surprise him. He can about imagine the furious discussion that had been had — Glenn opposed to bringing Merle in, Hershel reminding him that Daryl and Rick are out there, Michonne silent but furious, and then a frustrated Carol taking the keys with some remark about leaving them out there to die while they stand here bickering.

He owes that woman his life a few times over.

Daryl shoots the walkers that get too close as Rick and Merle hop in the truck bed. He’ll have to get those arrows back later. Right now, they need to get back to the safety of the prison. When all three of them are in, he thumps the roof of the truck and Carol takes off with a spray of gravel. They all watch as they head back up the hill, walkers groaning and coming for them, but they manage to move fast enough to stay out of their grasp. Then they’re through the only gate still standing and he hops out of the truck before Carol puts it in park. He preemptively intercepts Glenn and Michonne before they can go straight to Merle.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, throwing his arm out.

“We’re not bringing him here!” Glenn cries, anguished.

“We ain’t leaving him out there!”

“Boy, you think I wanted to come here?” Merle is lounging in the truck like it’s his throne.

“Merle,” Daryl says warningly and then Carol is out of the truck, pushing Glenn back so that she can hug Daryl. Daryl hugs her back, one eye still on Glenn.

“We’ll lock him in with us,” Rick states as he climbs out of the truck. “We can’t leave anyone else out there. It’s not…” he’s cut off by Carl hugging him around the middle. Rick’s hands shake when he embraces his son. “Safe.”

“Inside,” Hershel orders, looking out. Daryl thinks _snipers_ and is inclined to agree, hustling everyone in. He counts the heads — Hershel, Carl, Rick, Maggie, Glenn, Carol, Beth — but not Judith or Axel. He feels fear choke him until they get inside the prison and he sees Beth pick up the bin that Judith sleeps in, safely set beside the door. Smart, not bringing her out there. Glenn is arguing with Rick behind him, furious but Daryl could care less. They’re all alive. He’s back, where he belongs.

Beth doesn’t seem interested in his return. She doesn’t say a word to him, just moves Judith out of the vicinity of Merle and Daryl’s half annoyed (because asshole of supreme order Merle certainly is but he’d never hurt a baby) and half glad (because if Merle sees how he looks at the little girl, he’ll have more to run his mouth on). But before he can turn back to the fight that’s brewing between Merle and Glenn, to defend his brother or whatever, Beth glances at him, blue eyes flashing.

He wants to open his mouth and tell her… Something. He’s not sure what. That he wanted to come back the second he left? That he wants to be the kind of guy who’s worthy of being here, like he’d been when he’d saved Judith with the formula? He can be a good guy. He just… Forgets it when Merle is around. Merle opens that damn mouth of his and Daryl is back to being seven years old, desperate for his big brother to love him.

It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. But he saved a family too, a family he didn’t have to. One with a baby, because that sound had reminded him so much of Judith his throat had gone all tight. He wants to tell her that he wanted to come back. That he never should’ve left, but that Merle is his brother, for whatever that means, and the feelings inside him make it hard to speak, just like it always has. But he wants to tell her. He wants to.

Beth’s gaze is not the look of hatred or rage that Glenn’s been directing at him, or the all-knowing gaze of Hershel, or Carol’s glad smile. It’s… Well, he’d be fucked trying to understand what it is. Anger, maybe. Or relief, perhaps. But she only lets her shuttered eyes linger on him for a moment, then she whisks herself off with Judith and leaves him to take care of the fact that the majority of people in this room want his brother dead.

That’s nothing new in his life.

* * *

  
  


**If Daryl Dixon has to be known by someone, he’s not sure he wants it to be Beth Greene, the cleverest girl he’s ever met.**

He’s the one on guard duty when Rick, Michonne, and Carl come back from their weapons run back to King County. He’s been on guard duty this whole time — it’s easier to be out here than in the prison with his brother. Glenn and Maggie seem to be of the same mindset, given that they’re both also on watch, which makes three of them. It’s overkill, but he’s not going to say anything. That leaves Hershel, Beth, and Carol to fend off Merle. He’s not all that worried about it — Beth held her own against Merle earlier when he was asking how old she is, which Daryl begrudgingly respects.

“Oi.” he gives a sharp whistle and then he, Glenn, and Maggie go to the gate to roll it back. Glenn shoots one walker that gets too close; Daryl pops another through the fence. Then they all hurry towards the car, wary as always of sniper shots.

“Everything good?” Rick asks him, getting out of the car and Daryl nods. It’s been quiet. Well, as quiet as it possibly can be with Merle in the mix.

“Get anything?” he asks them and Michonne has an honest-to-god grin, the kind that he’s never really seen on her face before.

“Just wait,” Carl remarks, opening the trunk of the car, to show that it’s stuffed to the brim, including what looks like a crib.

“Thank god.” Maggie grabs one side and Daryl grabs the other, pulling it out. “She’s outgrowing that dang bin. And I’m telling Beth that she’s not writing on the side of this one!”

Daryl’s real fond of that doodle on the side of that bin, but he won’t say anything.

“They back?” Carol asks, when they haul the crib into the prison. Beth is tending to Judith; her whole face lights up when she sees the crib and her jaw drops.

“Got a lot to unload,” Daryl says pointedly and Carol goes to help; Merle follows after with a reluctant sigh.

“Look at all this stuff!” Beth is looking inside the crib, beaming. “More onesies, and bibs, and socks — good. We don’t need her toes getting cold!”

The baby stuff is great. It is. Daryl loves Judith and wants her to be comfortable, but what they really need would be weapons, ammo, and more weapons to keep her safe and alive. He’s about to ask Michonne if they got anything else of value when the woman herself walks in, a massive bag bulging on her back in the distinct shape of guns. Following her comes Rick with another large and bulky bag, and then Carl with —

“Holy shit,” Daryl says reverently and receives a swat from Beth for his language around Judith, but he doesn’t care.

That’s a fucking nice looking crossbow right there.

“Told you it was a good haul,” Michonne says with a grin as Carl brings the bow over to him. It’s in perfect shape, with arrows already ready to go. He takes it in awe, feeling out it's weight.

“Does this mean I get the old one?” Carl asks him, looking happier than he has in days.

“You couldn't draw that thing,” Beth laughs as Daryl runs his hand over the Stryker gently, lost to anything other than this bow.

“Like you can!”

“I never said I could!”

“This mine?” Daryl asks Michonne, ignoring Beth and Carl bickering good-naturedly behind him.

“Anyone else here gonna go as starry eyed as you for that thing?” she teases good-naturedly. “I thought you could do with an upgrade.”

He hefts the thing, getting accustomed to the weight and length of it. Michonne leaves him to it, going back to open the other bags. The crossbow isn’t the only thing they’d gotten — they have more guns and ammo. He hasn’t seen this amount since the farm. He wants to ask where the hell they found all of it; it’s like they rolled over the damn SWAT unit, not a county sheriff’s office, but he can’t. He’s in love with this new crossbow. It doesn’t have a scope on it but that’s fine. Daryl can make that swap.

“So what’s the verdict?” Beth asks him with a smile, deftly feeding Judith by tucking the bottle against her cheek and shoulder so that she can have one hand free, reaching out to touch the tips on the arrow.

“It’s badass,” he mutters back, thinking that in all his life, he’s never owned something as nice as this thing.

“Daryl Dixon, language!”

“Sorry,” he says, clearly not, and Beth is still smiling so he knows he’s not really in any trouble.

“Anything in there for me, besides baby things?” she asks Michonne and then Rick hands her a box of ammo for the little pistol she carries and Daryl snorts before he can help it. Beth glances over her shoulder at him and he makes a show of inspecting his new bow like he’s going to find anything wrong with it.

Beth leaves him be after that. Besides, he has to contend with Carl nagging him for his old Horton, and Merle looking awfully jealous even though Rick’s passing him a gun, and the fact that Rick’s saying something about a sit-down with the Governor that he really should be paying attention to but he’s honestly still a little bit in love with this bow.

Once all the weapons have been put away (not the bow, that’s on his back and that’s where it’s going to stay) he decides he needs to pull himself together and deal with the baby stuff. So with a whistle to get Carl’s attention, they both pick up the crib and carry it to Beth’s room. No pretending that it’s going to go anywhere else, at least not right now.

“Thanks!” Beth is organizing the new clothes and diapers in Judith’s old crib and Daryl feels the corner of his mouth twitch, almost into a smile. “This is perfect Carl, you did a good job.”

“Thanks.” Carl grins at her, just a little moon-eyed and Daryl resists, barely, the urge to snort.

“I don’t know who’s more excited, me for a crib or Daryl for the bow,” Beth jokes, giving Daryl a knowing smile. He’s tempted to smile back, but that wouldn’t be in keeping with his image, so he gives her a scowl.

“Who do you think he likes more, us or the bow?” Carl is enjoying the game and the attention from Beth, which is funny. Daryl will let him go with it then, let him have some hope.

“Me or the bow?” Beth pretends to think about it. “Oh, probably the bow. But Judith or the bow? That’s a tough one, but I’d say Judith.”

“Yeah,” Carl laughs and Beth looks up at Daryl with sparkling eyes and he knows she’s teasing, he knows it. But even as his fingers curl around the strap across his chest, he thinks that he wouldn’t choose the nicest bow in the world over any of these people. Especially Beth Greene.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**The most alarming thing that Daryl Dixon can think of is Beth Greene knowing Merle Dixon.**

“Goddamn.” Merle spits on the ground not two inches from Daryl’s shoe. He doesn’t move it, still squinting into the sun. “Can’t be in there another fucking minute.”

“That why you’re bothering me?” Daryl demands. It’s not the worst thing in the world; he’d rather Merle be out here antagonizing him instead of being inside, setting the rest of the group’s teeth on edge as they wait for another attack from the Governor. At least Daryl knows how to handle Merle when he's in a bad mood.

“I ain’t out here on the account of your sterling personality, baby brother.”

“Didn’t think you were.”

“Out here cause everyone in there is batshit crazy,” Merle complains and Daryl refuses to roll his eyes, cause that’ll just make Merle run his mouth more, but it’s a near thing.

“Ever think that you bring that on yourself?” he asks him, echoing back to their conversation in the woods. Merle snorts, never one to admit fault if he doesn’t have to.

“You got Officer Friendly in there, looking like he’s two minutes from a little breakdown. And the little asian kid, don’t know his head from his ass, and that little piece he likes so much but can’t keep safe…”

Daryl tunes him out. It’s something he’s long practiced at, not listening to Merle. Has been since he was a kid. Tuned out the sound of his parents fighting, his daddy’s drinking, his mama’s crying, and the sound of Merle, incessantly talking. Maybe it had been Merle’s way of trying to drown out the rest of that shit. He’s not listening until Merle says something that makes him turn and demand, _“what?”_

Cause no way Beth Greene pulled a gun on Merle. No fucking way.

“Yeah, lil baby mama over there shot her gun right into the ceiling, like she ain’t never heard of fucking ricochet, all cause we were having a little tiff.” Merle shakes his head. “And you always think it’s the sweet ones…”

“Beth?” Daryl stares at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, that’s her name.” Merle’s got a real slow, sly smile now that makes Daryl feel like he’s let a fox loose in the hen house. “Rick’s little baby mama.”

“Ain’t her kid,” Daryl says defensively. Rick ain’t like that. And neither is Beth, for that matter. “She’s Lori’s.”

“Yeah, ‘cept Lori died,” Merle says dismissively and Daryl wants to throttle him for speaking so casually about that death, but it doesn’t tear him up inside like it does Daryl so he can’t. “So that little Beth Greene is over there acting like a little woman. And you’re tryna play house with her, don’t pretend you ain’t.”

Daryl goes still. He goes real, real still. Merle can’t have noticed that. Daryl has been making sure to avoid Beth lately, to keep her and Judith at a distance so that Merle doesn’t see any special attention towards them. Daryl doesn’t want Merle to see anything to do with Beth or Judith. Not at all. So he squints into the sun and infuses as much meanness in his tone as possible. “The fuck you talking about?”

“I know you best,” Merle reminds him in a tone that makes Daryl feel four years old and two feet tall. Instead of trying to fight him there, he changes the subject.

“What the fuck she shooting the ceiling for?” that doesn’t sound like Beth at all. Back when Daryl first met her, she was scared to pick up a gun. Sometimes it still looks like she is, with that little pistol shoved in her back pocket, where most girls would keep a wallet or a phone.

“Cause I was scraping with the asian kid,” Merle repeats, like it’s obvious. “Wanted to come after you, got told no. Fuck, you should’ve seen it. Didn’t think she’d ever have it in her, but I guess she’s tougher than she looks.”

“Yeah.” Daryl is still struggling to imagine Beth just shooting up the ceiling. He’d figured she’d run away or cry or plead or something. But she’s been changing, sure as he has, ever since this whole world went up around them. “Guess so. She aim it at you?”

“I wish she had!” Merle gets a big kick out of that, laughing.

“What?” Daryl gives him a look. He knows his brother is crazy; that has been a constant in his life since before he can even remember. Merle shrugs, not bothering to explain why the hell Beth Greene shooting up a ceiling is even remotely funny when it sorta feels like Daryl’s upside down, cause _Beth?_

“Cuts a real fine picture with that baby on one hip and a gun on the other.” Merle keeps needling him, keeps taking a knife and driving it deeper, like he knows somehow that the only thing soft and precious left in Daryl’s life is that little baby girl and sometimes the one who carries her around.

“She’s just kid, Merle, don’t be a fucking pervert.”

“Ain’t me I’m worried about,” Merle chortles and Daryl’s head is going to split in two from listening to him any longer. It’d been bad enough just living with the Merle in his head, but it’s so much worse having him in person. So he lashes out, aiming a punch at Merle’s ear only to have it blocked with ease. “Whoa there little brother, touched a nerve now did I?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Daryl warns him, “or I’ll drop you on the other side of the damn fence.”

“Yeah.” something in Merle’s face makes him think less of disgust and more like longing. “Touched a big ol’ nerve.”

And then he leaves Daryl the hell alone, thank fuck.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**All that Daryl Dixon knows is that Beth Greene can be a real stubborn brat sometimes.**

“We should fortify the prison,” Michonne is saying and Daryl can’t look at her, can’t think about what’s coming next, but Glenn is nodding. Glenn is nodding because Glenn doesn’t know what’s going to happen to her. To this woman who brought him back a new crossbow and laughs with him sometimes and has become one of them, one of their family. He wishes he was Glenn and didn’t know.

"Think we can lay some traps?” Glenn is looking around with a critical eye.

“Don’t have much in the way of supplies,” Michonne observes and Glenn shrugs.

“When have we ever? Let’s get creative.”

It’s better than sitting around wrestling with the idea of giving up Michonne, someone who Daryl is starting to see as a member of this family, and the guilt that comes with it. So Daryl agrees, and even helps her rustle up some boards and barbed wire from the destroyed gate. Her theory is that they’ll pop tires if anyone tries to send in another vehicle full of walkers or unfriendly folks. Daryl hates that it’s a good idea. He hates that it’s from her.

“I wanna help.” They’re in the middle of crafting another such thing when Beth shows up.

“You and Carl can go in the dog run, make some noise, draw the walkers,” Glenn says and Beth rolls her eyes. It almost makes Daryl smile. Yeah, maybe she is feisty enough to fire a gun to scare off Merle.

“I’m sick of that,” she states. “I can take down walkers. I can fight.”

“Yeah, it’s just safer in the dog run,” Glenn says, like Beth isn’t understanding some basic concept.

“So put Maggie in there,” Beth says tartly and Daryl snorts, catching Michonne’s amused eye and quickly looking off before their faces can give them away. Girl has called Glenn’s bluff and she knows it. “Where are these going then?”

“On the drive, in the yard,” Michonne explains.

“Gonna be walkers,” Daryl warns her and Beth shrugs. She’s a far cry from the girl who cringed when she had to kill them before. “Your daddy okay with this?”

“I ain’t a kid.” she juts her chin out defiantly and he raises one eyebrow in response. He doesn’t want her in danger, same as everyone. But Beth especially. He knows she can fight, the problem is that she’s just so damn little. Weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet, doesn’t even clear his chin if she don’t have her boots on. The walkers with long arms and some reach, those are the dangerous ones.

“Can you drive?” he asks her and Beth blinks, seemingly caught off guard by the change in conversation. She narrows her eyes for a moment then answers slowly,

“Course I can. Been driving since I was a kid on daddy’s farm.”

“Yeah, but like a license?” he questions and Beth’s eyes crinkle in amusement.

“Why, am I gonna get pulled over?” she sasses and he realizes she has a point. Not like any of that matters anymore, not really. But before he can tell her to shut the hell up, she laughs. “Yeah, the state of Georgia gave it to me and everything.”

“You can drive then.” he gives her the keys to the truck. “And stay the hell inside the cab.”

She pouts but doesn’t fight it. Daryl knows enough to take that as a win, so he taps Glenn and Michonne to get the shit loaded while Beth tells Maggie and Carl they can be on fence duty. Then they all meet at the gate so Carol can pull it back and Beth drives them out. Daryl lowers the window, shooting the walkers that are too close, resolving to get the arrows back.

“Back up here,” Glenn instructs her and Beth puts it in reverse, maneuvering expertly. Well, she said she’d been doing it since she was a kid.

“You guys get it in place,” Michonne orders, opening the door and reaching back to grab her katana. “I’ll do cover.”

Daryl watches for a second as she slices through one walker’s rotting skull. Yeah, he’s not looking forward to not having that around anymore. He turns to Beth, who is sitting serenely in the front seat and growls, “stay put.”

“Yes, Mr. Dixon,” she says primly and he feels like killing something so he gets out and goes to retrieve his arrows.

They probably could clear the walkers from the yard again, especially with the help of Merle and Michonne, but what’s the point? If anything, it adds an extra layer of protection. And more will come, if they don’t fix that gate. So he refrains from killing all of them and helps Glenn lay the traps while Michonne strolls about, decapitating walkers like it’s a Sunday pickup baseball game. And Beth makes good on her promise, and stays the hell inside the truck. Good. One less thing for his already full skull to worry about.

They get all the traps laid, then head back in. Rick pulls the gate back for them, a question in his eyes that Glenn answers, explaining, "they try to drive up to the gate again, maybe some blown tires will stop them.”

"That's a good idea.” Rick looks pleasantly surprised and it makes Daryl’s gut twist.

"It was Michonne’s,” he admits and sees the conflict on Rick’s face, sees it plain as day. He hopes like hell no one else does.

"We don't have to win. We just have to make their getting at us more trouble than it's worth,” Michonne states and he turns away. He will follow Rick — he’s proved himself worth following — and so he trusts him on this. It’s what has to be done, to keep everyone safe. But whether it happens or not, a war is still coming, and Daryl’s ready for it.

“Hey.” Beth bumps his shoulder when they turn for the prison and he looks down at her in surprise. She flashes him a grin and then the truck keys dangle from her finger. “I do good or what?”

“Did fine.” he snatches them away from her with a little glare and Beth bounds on, unbothered, blonde hair swinging in the light.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**If Daryl Dixon knows anything, it’s that some things are far too good for him, things like Beth Greene.**

Well.

He’s not going to sleep for a fucking week, at least. Probably longer. Fuck. More than 50 new people in the prison, people who were enemies not an hour ago?

Oh yeah. He’s gonna be wound up so tight for a month, it’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t pull something.

He knows it’s what Rick needs. Hell, it might be what they all need. To remember that there’s good in this world, to remember it’s not ‘us versus them’ but humans against walkers. Hershel thinks it’s a grand idea, glad to see them retaining their humanity. Somewhere in the back of his mind, like a half forgotten whisper, the voice of Dale tells him that maybe this is what they need, to not be so broken. This is a good thing.

Doesn’t mean that he’s any less anxious about it.

He’s taken up residence at their cellblock, with his knife and bow at the ready. The other group is being settled in the cellblock they cleared out for Oscar and Axel — it’s not great, but it’ll do. It’s better than nothing, better than the ground or out in the woods, with the walkers. There’s some complaining from the people more accustomed to their comforts, but that’s all gone now. This is what they have. This is where they can be safe.

Carol is settling them in. So are Hershel, Rick, and Maggie. But Daryl has a different job to do. He didn’t volunteer to be on new kid duty, trying to figure out how they’re going to house five times their number in this prison. He’s going to stay right where he is, outside Beth’s cell, because in there is Judith. And he made a promise to that little girl, not that long ago. He’s always going to be there to protect her, to keep her safe.

It’s darkening outside. Night is falling. He wonders if everyone has been shown their cells yet. He wonders if Rick needs backup. He wonders if Carol is okay. But he doesn’t move from his post. Nothing is moving him. He’s pretty sure the only reason he hasn’t lashed out in fear is because behind him, Beth is singing. She’s singing to Judith, but sometimes if he lets his eyes drift shut, it feels a little bit like she might be singing for him.

She’s got a funny sense of lullabies, this Beth Greene.

"My bonnie lies over the ocean, my bonnie lies over the sea. Well, my bonnie lies over the ocean. Yeah, bring back my bonnie to me…”

That one seems like a really lullaby. Daryl doesn’t have much knowledge on the subject, on account of his family not being the ‘lullabies and cuddles before bed’ type but it’s got the right mix of weirdness, nonsense, and sinisterness that constitutes most lullabies. He figures that’s for putting Judith to sleep. He doesn’t know if Beth’s got her in her arms or in the crib, but either way, he knows that they’re both behind him. That’s enough.

"Well, I've been 'fraid of changin’, cause I've built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, even children get older. And I'm gettin' older, too…”

That’s no lullaby. That one he knows. He’s heard that song over the years, heard it a lot of different ways. But maybe… Maybe he likes it best when it comes from Beth, soft and sweet and gentle, like Judith is falling asleep and Beth keeps singing to lull her into it, but now she’s doing the songs she likes, the songs that she might’ve listened to back when she was just a farm girl in a big house, a teenager with no worries.

"I've been watchin' you for some time, can't stop starin' at those ocean eyes. Burning cities and napalm skies, fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes. Your ocean eyes…”

Yeah, that one he officially doesn’t know, but it’s creepy as all fucking get out. Especially given what he remembers of that night in Atlanta, that night when he realized they were well and truly fucked, that things weren’t going to get any better, not after all of this. He hopes that Judith is asleep for that one. Even sung in Beth’s pretty, high voice, it still makes shivers go down his spine, even if he thinks that of course Beth has ocean eyes.

"Your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones, turn into something beautiful. You know, you know I love you so, you know I love you so…”

He’s not sure about that one either. Either way, Beth’s voice keeps trailing off between the words, each time a little bit longer and longer. She’s not singing Judith to sleep anymore. She’s singing for herself at this point. Maybe for him too, he thinks. He wonders if she knows he’s still listening, still out here protecting her and Judith. He’d bet she does. She’s annoyingly perceptive that way. Her eyes always find him the quickest. She always seems to be there when he needs someone.

Like the time after Merle, when he’d been so broken with grief he doesn’t even remember what was said. Only that Beth was there, there with her big eyes and shaky smile, tenderly trying to help him put the pieces back together. She must not have told anyone, because no one looks at him any differently. No one says anything to him like _‘hey Daryl, why’d your daddy carve up your back like a Thanksgiving turkey’_ or _‘hey Daryl, why don’t you ever talk about your life before all this’._

Beth keeps his secrets. Beth listens to him when he asks her to mind the one thing that matters most. Beth always has a smile and a quip, a teasing little nudge that makes him feel part of the joke and not the butt of it. Beth is the girl who he thought would die at the start of this and yet somehow she’s still here, shooting guns at the ceilings to stop Merle, taking care of a little girl like she’s born to it, and there for Daryl when he needs it most.

He lets her sleep. He misses the singing, but she’s going to need the rest. So when the whole cell block is quiet, Daryl peeks inside. Just for a moment. Just for a second. To see Beth, asleep on her back with Judith on her chest, the both of them looking so peaceful that everything in him stills for just a moment. Still, because huh. It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just over here yelling about merle dixon and the fact that beth greene shot the ceiling in front of him wow my girl that is such an underrated moment 
> 
> also if you guys are interested, i'll be posting a oneshot tomorrow from merle's POV when beth is singing hold on... it's not a direct continuation of this universe, but it might be? and there's an easter egg in this chapter for a new little series i'm writing...
> 
> can you tell i am obsessed with this pairing??? 
> 
> also the songs beth sings are landslide by fleetwood mac, ocean eyes by billie ellish, yellow by coldplay


	3. In A New Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI WELCOME BACK TO THE PRISON INTERLUDE AKA WHAT I SPEND SO MUCH OF MY TIME THINKING ABOUT
> 
> if you have any questions about timelines, let me know. otherwise i hope you have fun spotting all the little references back to no red thread. 
> 
> enjoy friends!

**Daryl Dixon doesn’t know much, but he knows what he'll do if anyone even thinks about touching Beth Greene.**

“I don’t like this,” Glenn mutters under his breath to him. Daryl grunts, moving aside the debris. They’re trying to clear up the prison, make it livable. See if they can find anything of use now that they’ve got even more mouths to feed. They’ve got the people from Woodbury helping them; they might not be able to handle killing walkers but they can sure as hell move pallets. “I don’t trust them.”

“We don’t trust anyone,” Maggie hisses, pretending to be pausing while sweeping away glass and other broken bits. “But we took them in. We gotta make an effort now.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it,” Glenn shoots back and Daryl snorts. “And neither does Daryl. I can tell.”

“Can you?” he asks, a bit mockingly. It’s probably true though — now that Merle is gone, Glenn has known Daryl the longest. And that usually translates to knowing him best, by default.

“We all can,” Glenn retorts and Daryl shrugs. Probably true. It’s getting harder to hide his emotions, especially from these people. And all the new people around only serves to make him even more cagey.

“Rick made a call,” Daryl responds flatly. That’s the long and short of it. They just have to make it work.

“Yeah, he sure did.” Glenn goes to help some men move the bleachers back. Daryl follows suit.

“Thanks,” pants an older man, slightly portly. Daryl gives him a curt nod, but he keeps talking. “Christ, hard work isn’t it? Worse than a honey-do list.”

“Yeah,” Daryl mumbles, never having had a honey-do list in his life. Fuck, he’s never had a honey to tell him what to do. Well, besides Rick. But that’s probably not quite the same as what this guy is thinking.

“Makes me miss the old ball and chain,” he keeps yammering, sitting down on the bleachers. A few of the other guys have done the same, taking a break. Daryl wants to walk away, uncomfortable with this line of conversation, but he’s boxed in from behind by the rest of the group. “Used to bring me a fresh glass of lemonade on hot days whenever I was doing shit in the yard.”

“Plenty of women left,” jokes one guy from behind him. “Maybe you can ask one of them for some lemonade.”

Daryl almost snorts. He can’t imagine Maggie making lemonade for them, not when she’s usually covered in guts and blood from walker kills.

Beth though. Beth might make lemonade, sweet and as yellow as her hair.

“Yeah, like the new ones here,” says another man jovially. “The older lady seems like she’s a good cook. Bet she’s good at other stuff too.”

Daryl tenses slightly. That’s Carol they’re talking about. And she can fight her own battles but she shouldn’t have to, not after everything. (Carol might say the same for him but he doesn’t dwell on that.) But the men are already moving on, yammering on and unaware of the fact that they're raising Daryl's blood pressure with each syllable.

“Nah, the one with the sword. Now there’s the kind of woman I want to see bring me a meal.”

“Probably take your head off with it,” says someone else and Daryl almost does laugh because he can’t quite picture Michonne making sandwiches and lemonade, but the mental picture of her doing so is almost an amusing one.

“You all have it wrong,” chortles the guy beside Daryl, taking a second to mop his brow. “The little bitty blonde. You can’t tell me she’s not the finest one here, even if she’s got a fresh little one on her hip. I mean—”

He doesn’t get the rest of the sentence out. He doesn’t because Daryl’s hand goes around his throat and chokes the rest of the words off. He can hear the muffled voices around him, can feel the hands hitting his shoulders and back, but it’s all at a distance. The rushing sound fills his ears, the red tinge coming over his vision as he stares, thinking that danger, danger, these men are danger to Beth and to Carol and that he has to —

“Daryl!” Glenn catches his elbow, pulls it down so that Daryl’s grip is loosened some.

“She’s just a fucking kid,” he growls, to the man, then to them all. “She’s a fucking kid, that ain’t her goddamn baby, and if you fucking touch her, if you fucking _look_ at her—”

“Daryl. Daryl.” Maggie is pulling him away. “Hey. Daryl. C’mon. C’mon.”

“They…” words are getting harder and harder as his anger rises, rage choking his windpipe. “Saying… Carol… Beth…”

“Yeah, I know.” Maggie gives a disgusted glance over his shoulder. “But they’re just shitty assholes. They’ll learn or they’ll die, Daryl, just like all the others. They’re not going to touch Beth or Carol. I won’t let them. Daddy won’t let them, Rick won’t let them, and we both know you won’t either.”

Yeah. Like hell he won’t, because he still remembers how to be wild and feral and cruel. Safety and sanctuary can only do so much, because he’s got a long memory and that’s all still there, right under the surface. These men don’t know. But Maggie’s right. They’re going to learn. And he’s going to be teaching them, because they better not touch Beth Greene. They better fucking not.

Maggie guides him back to cleaning, giving him tasks that set him apart from the group, like she doesn’t trust him not to start swinging, but Daryl knows better.

He’ll take his time, wait for his opportunity. Listens to them bitch about wanting to get drunk, about how some of them have smuggled in some booze and that there should be a fire and a night to get rowdy, like back in the good old days.

Yeah, Daryl is perfectly content to bide his time. He’ll get them.

* * *

**Daryl Dixon doesn’t know what the hell an 18 year old girl wants for her birthday.**

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Maggie smacks his arm and Daryl glances at her, not really annoyed but a bit too frustrated at the holdup to be genuinely forgiving. “We gotta stop!”

“Why?” Glenn is behind them, reloading his gun. “It’s a shitty antique store, every town has them. We’re not gonna find anything useful in there.”

“Glenn.” Maggie turns to give him an affronted look.

“What?” Glenn slides the clip into place with a satisfying click, shouldering the gun and giving her a rueful look. “This run was for agriculture tools specifically. We shouldn’t push it. We’ve already gotten into some trouble.” he gestures to Maggie’s bloodstained top.

“Glenn.” Maggie refuses to budge, standing there in the middle of some dinky town that they'd found on the map and figured would have the supplies Rick and Hershel would need to start the fields in the prison yard. “It’s Beth’s birthday party tomorrow. Give me ten minutes. I’m bringing her back a gift — and not some dang post-holer, and that’s final. So are you gonna cover me or not?”

“Daryl?” Glenn looks at him for backup but Daryl just shrugs. It’s not his problem or deal. They’ve gotten the supplies they need and the walkers don't seem to have infiltrated this place too badly. They shouldn’t push it. But ten minutes in an antique store won’t kill them. Hopefully.

“Five,” he counters and Maggie grins, going to the knock loudly on the door. Glenn, groaning and grumbling, goes to cover her left side. Daryl covers her right. Then in they go, clearing out the few lingering and decaying walkers, and Glenn covers the back stairs while Daryl minds the door, and Maggie gets to do her shopping.

“A gnome,” Glenn says in disbelief when Maggie returns, smiling. She’s holding this ugly as sin lawn ornament, with a little hat and everything. “We’re doing all this for a gnome?”

“It’s an inside joke, you wouldn’t get it,” Maggie counters and Glenn mutters something then that makes Maggie smack him, but she glances around. There’s not much else here, so Daryl thinks the gnome probably is the best of it. “I’ll even let you pick something out, if you want.”

“What, the gnome isn’t from both of us?” Glenn demands and Daryl leaves them to their married couple bickering. He’s spotted something — a little rack on what must have been the front counter, once. It holds a few bracelets on a hook, simple beads. They remind him of Beth, the way she covers up her scar with bracelets like he covers his up with his vest. He pulls a few off and tucks them in his pocket before turning back to Mrs. And Mr. Bickerson.

“Five minutes are up,” he says curtly, pushing past them and back out onto the street, wary for another walkers drawn by their noise. Glenn and Maggie follow, the discussion about the gnome apparently resolved. He snorts when he sees Maggie climb into the truck with the thing on her lap, holding it like a baby. Well, she’d said it was an inside joke. And far be it for him to tell her what the hell to get her little sister for a birthday present. 

Back at the prison, Maggie stashes the gnome in the guard tower before they continue onto the prison to deliver Hershel their haul. Daryl doesn’t say much, just takes the thanks that the old man gives him and moves on. He’s just getting food when Carol finds him, eyebrows raised. For a moment, he opens his mouth to ask her what she’s pulling faces for, but then he remembers what he was doing today, covered in the blood and guts that always come with fighting walkers in close quarters.

“Eventful day?” she jokes and he shrugs.

“Got everything Hershel wanted. And more,” he adds, thinking of Maggie and the gnome.

“Good.” Carol touches his arm, voice lowering slightly as she keeps an eye on a few of the Woodbury women that are chattering a short distance off from them. “You coming to Beth’s thing tomorrow?”

“There’s a thing?” he asks, between mouthfuls. Carol raises one eyebrow, just a little quirk.

“Just family,” she mutters and he knows what that means. Knows which people that limits it to. “Beth didn’t want a fuss, Rick didn’t want a thing. So we’re just meeting in the cellblock. Maggie mentioned something about gifts?”

“Yeah,” he snorts, because he knows all about Maggie’s gift. Well, if it’s just family. Then it might not be so bad.

It only takes him about until the middle of the night to wake up in a panic over his idea. Who the fuck does he think he is, getting gifts for Beth Greene? Like he’s some sort of friend. Like he’s some kind of good guy. He forgets, from time to time. Beth smiles and bounces Judith and sings to her and he forgets for a second that he’s not the kind of guy who can give her gifts. He should stay the hell away from her, just like he makes all the other guys do.

Fuck.

He spends the day on fence duty, killing walkers to stop his hands from shaking. And then he goes to take one hell of a cold shower, scrubbing himself clean. He tries to find clothes with the least amount of stains and rips, then throws his old vest on over the top of it anyways. The bracelets clink cheerfully in his pockets, reminding him that this is all a terrible fucking idea. Yet still his feet move, taking him down to where they’re gathered.

Beth, holding Judith and smiling. Carl, perched at her feet and grinning. Maggie and Glenn and Hershel and Carol and Rick. Their family. Their few. He wonders if Beth has opened all her gifts, then sees the misshapen lump by her elbow and knows that she hasn’t. He slides in awkwardly by Rick but Beth sees him and gives him a smile, bouncing Judith on her knee.

“It didn’t have to be a thing,” she tells her father and he smiles.

“Not everyday my baby girl turns eighteen,” he replies and Beth blushes. Daryl’s stomach gives a little odd flip at that, though he just chalks that up to the fact that he’s fucking uncomfortable being here in the first place. What kind of asshole comes to a girl’s birthday party? “Sorry, there’s no cake…”

“If I had a cake, it’d be chocolate,” Carl states and then Maggie squirms on the spot.

“Open your gifts,” she declares and Beth hands Judith off to Carl, picking up what Daryl knows to be the gnome.

“This one’s from you and Glenn right?” she asks and Maggie nods, grinning and hardly able to sit still.

“Well, mostly me. But Glenn did help,” she concedes and Glenn rolls his eyes. Beth pulls off what appears to be a pillowcase tied over the thing and then brings it out. For a second, there’s nothing but confusion on her face. Then she starts laughing, wild joyous laughter that bends her in two and Maggie is laughing as well, but at least Daryl’s not the only one confused by this. Rick, Carl, Carol, and Glenn all have equal looks of bafflement. The only ones besides the Greene sister who aren’t bemused would be Hershel and Judith.

“You did not,” Beth gasps, with tears in her eyes. Maggie tries to stop herself from giggling, fails, and breaks out in a fresh fit.

“Well,” Hershel says dryly, “I think that solves the mystery of the theft of Mrs. Peterkins' nativity scene.”

“She used gnomes, daddy,” Maggie laughs while Beth wipes her eyes. “It was weird!”

“She was just begging for someone to steal a gnome version of baby Jesus,” Beth answers and both girls break down again, their laughter damn near silent now.

It makes Daryl’s chest ache. When did he and Merle ever share anything like this? Did they have any good memories not centered around drugs and drinking? Any fun shit that they pulled for the hell of it, not to get money or food or to lie, cheat and steal? Yeah, Beth leads a real blessed life. Even now. Even after all of it. Because she’s still got a sister to have inside jokes with and a daddy to chide her. And he’s still some redneck asshole thinking that he deserves to give her bracelets.

Once they get themselves back under control, Beth proceeds to open the rest of her gifts. They’re all pretty fitting for a girl in an apocalypse. Rick gets her ammo, because that’s better than gold these days. Carol gives her thick, woolen socks. Carl, blushing, gives her colored pencils for her journal. And Hershel grants her a box of chocolate that Daryl knows Maggie scavenged last week. He doesn’t say anything and Beth doesn’t look to him, like she doesn’t expect a gift from him. He’s not quite sure how to take that.

He slips away without wishing her happy birthday. He heads to her cell, feeling creepy as fuck for invading her space like this. But he digs the bracelets out of his pocket and puts them on her pillow. She might understand. She might not. Either way, it means that he won’t have to face her, have to see if her face looks at him in disgust. Or worse, delight.

Nope. No. No way in hell. Nope. He’s out, he’s running, he’s going to go outside where he can breathe and isn’t anywhere near anything having to do with Beth Greene being a legal adult.

The next morning, he meets everyone for breakfast. He’s going to meet with the rest of the council to talk about the next series of runs they’ll go on, but first he wants breakfast. Beth is the one serving it up today, ladling oatmeal with one hand and holding Judith with the other. He resolves to find her a sling of some sort on the next run, in case she ever needs both hands. She smiles brightly at him and when she serves him a spoonful, the glint of three new beaded bracelets flash on her wrist.

He’s pretty sure his cheeks are flaming when he retreats.

* * *

**Beth Greene always seems to know what to tell Daryl Dixon to make him smile.**

“Wasting daylight,” he drawls, watching as Carol rubs sleep out of her eye and Sasha yawns widely before she speaks to the rest of the group assembled; Tyreese, Gavin, Glenn, and Wyatt.

“Give him a minute, he’s not much of a morning person, and this is pretty fucking early.”

“We need a group to take that strip mall. That thing’s gonna be crawling with walkers,” Carol responds, wrapping her sweater a little tighter against the early morning chill. “We need David, or a suitable replacement.”

“I ain’t leaving yet, am I?” Daryl mutters, though he is thinking about crawling back into bed right now. They need an early start though, if they’re going to do this while it’s light out. No one likes playing hide and seek with the walkers in the dark.

“No, look, someone is — oh.” Sasha stops when she sees it’s not David who’s coming to join them but Beth, blinking in the weak morning light but walking over nonetheless.

“Morning,” she calls, heading right for them.

“Why’re you up so early?” Glenn asks and Beth gives them all a wane smile.

“Judith,” she responds, her standard answer and Daryl thinks of the number of times he’s gotten up for guard duty to see her already up with the little girl. “Speaking of…” she stops in front of Daryl.

“What?” he asks her, a little harsher and rougher than needs to be. Beth isn’t bothered though — Beth never is. Beth has stared him down at the end of a crossbow without blinking. Not a lot can scare her anymore.

“Daddy said your run today was for food, fuel, and bedding. But can I add a few things?” she asks him, a bit worriedly and he shrugs. “You don’t have to — just keep your eye out is all!”

“Beth.” he gives her a look, one that might send the ordinary human running. But Beth just bites her lip, bounces on the balls of her feet, and then hands over a list. He raises an eyebrow, looking at it. Her neat little handwriting has it all listed out.

_School Books (any grade, any subject)_   
_Pencils/Pens_   
_Coloring Books_   
_Pacifiers_   
_Stroller_   
_Baby Aspirin_   
_Socks (infant-toddler-child sized)_   
_Soap_   
_Tampons_   
_Hair Ties_

“I know it’s a lot.” Beth pulls a little face. “I just… I know how important food and stuff is but… Kids need structure. And at the end of the world or not, they still gotta know how to read. So we gotta start doing lessons soon.”

“Nah.” he tucks the list in his pocket, feeling a strange little curl of pride in his chest that she gave it to him and not Glenn or Carol or even Sasha. Trusted it, with him, but he doesn't reflect on it too long. “Think there’s an elementary school nearby. Might be able to scout it, plan another run if it ain’t been hit.”

“Thanks.” Beth’s face smooths out into happiness. For a second he fears — hopes? — that she’s going to hug him. Then she just touches his arm and skips off, leaving Carol in front of him with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s on the list?” she asks him and he shrugs.

“Tampons and hair ties is what you’ll be getting,” he states, no longer bashful about such things. Hard to be, after living in such close quarters with a bunch of women for over a year now. “I got socks and soap.”

“Nobody is getting anything unless David gets up,” Glenn complains. “That man has two minutes, then I’m dragging him out of bed myself.”

David makes it in his allotted two minutes. They find food, they find fuel, and Daryl finds a bunch of school supplies when he goes through the elementary school with Glenn and Tyreese covering his back.

He finds he likes to watch Beth’s smile when he hands her the haul.

* * *

**There’s a lot of things that Beth Greene doesn’t know and apparently it’s up to Daryl Dixon to teach her.**

“Hey.” he catches Beth off-guard, which is odd. She usually knows when he’s coming; hell, she plants herself right where he can find her. He’s pretty sure it’s got to be intentional, since Beth Greene is one of the smartest people he knows, if not one of those most observant. But she’d been busy humming, apparently not thinking about him.

“Oh!” she looks up at him, surprise quickly moving to a smile when she realizes it’s him. “Hi.”

“You okay?” he asks, looking at Judith too with some concern.

“Yeah.” Beth jostles the girl a little bit so the blankets fall open so he can see her. “She’s just been real fussy lately is all. I think that formula Maggie brought back from the last run makes her little bit gassy.”

“You been singing to her?” he asks, because he knows that Judith likes Beth’s singing. Daryl likes it too, but he’s never ever going to admit that.

“Yeah.” Beth gives him a little smile. “Yeah, I sing to her a lot, but that don’t help her gas none.”

“Ain’t singing the right songs,” he tells her in what might be classified as a joke. Beth raises her eyebrows at that.

“Excuse me Mr. Dixon, I didn’t know you were in charge of lil asskicker’s musical education.” Beth teases him with a big smile and he’s a bit lost now. He never has gotten past this part; usually bails when the conversation starts to turn towards anything resembling jokes.

“Just don’t want her knowing only Taylor Swift or Faith Hill,” he tells her rather defensively and Beth, for some reason, looks pleasantly surprised that he hasn’t stormed off, even if he is insulting her.

“I don’t sing her much country, actually,” she informs him with a smile, beginning to rock back and forth when Judith starts fussing again. “I was singing her Iris, before you got here. By the Goo Goo Dolls.”

Yeah, he knows the song. _And I don't want the world to see me, ‘cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am…_ He is just sorta surprised that Beth knows it. He pictures her as the sort of bubblegum pop and sugar spun country kinda girl, not the kind who sings rock as lullabies. He looks at her in surprise and Beth must think that he doesn’t know the song, because she hums the notes for him.

“Better sing her some of the classics,” he mutters before Beth’s singing can lull him into peace, rubbing a thumb over the downy soft hair on Judith’s head.

“What are the classics?” Beth asks and he actually takes a second to think about that.

“Led Zeppelin,” he answers and Beth’s delicate little nose wrinkles.

“Never heard of them.”

He about falls over. “What?”

“What kind of music are they?” Beth asks innocently, like it’s not insane that this girl can sing oldies and Irish drinking songs and not know the biggest and best band of all time.

“Rock,” he says stupidly. “Like, in the 70s.”

“Oh. Daddy doesn’t like rock much. And Shawn liked country.” her smile trembles, but only for a moment. “Otis listened to the oldies station, and Maggie liked boy bands. Guess I never heard of them.”

“Stairway to Heaven? Since I’ve Been Loving You? Immigrant Song?” he’s getting desperate now. “The Song Remains The Same?”

“Sing some lines,” she requests, still swaying side to side with Judith. The movement is oddly hypnotic and he doesn't really want her to stop, per say, but it is pretty damn distracting.

“Nah.” he waves a hand. “Can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

“Daryl.” Beth has a funny way of saying his name, the back half always a little huff of air. Sometimes she’ll draw it out in her most Georgian accent possible. And sometimes she calls him ‘Mr. Dixon’ which makes him want to scowl and laugh, usually at the same time cause he ain’t no Mr. “C’mon, just like, talk some of the lyrics then. Like you’re Johnny Cash or something.”

So she knows Johnny Cash but not Robert Plant. Christ, this girl. He heaves a sigh and figures that he’ll try the song that she has to know because really? Who doesn’t know this song? A little self conscious, he starts. "There's a lady who's sure, all that glitters is gold, and she's buying a stairway to heaven. When she gets there she knows if the stores are all closed with a word she can get what she came for. And she's buying a stairway to heaven?”

“Huh.” Beth’s head is tilted to the side a little, eyes sparkling in the light. “No, I don’t think I’ve heard that. It sounds really pretty though. If you find a CD or something with it on it, I’d take a listen.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, thinking of it being added to a never-ending list of shit he’s always watching for like ammo and Tylenol and bandaids. But Beth has to listen to the greatest band of all time. She’s gotta. “Had some, before, in my truck.” back when the world was normal and right and he’d throw one of those on to get lost in the music. Beth knows better than to ask him where all that shit is now — likely, they both know.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she hushes Judith, who gives a little cry. Daryl is reminded that he has work to do — actual work that’s not shaking his head over a one Beth Greene’s musical tastes, so he bends to give Judith’s head a kiss and then hoists his crossbow up, nodding to Beth. She gives a little wave, smiling, and then he’s gone, off to the guard tower where he’ll wish for a cigarette and wonder how Beth would sing Stairway to Heaven.

* * *

**It comes as a shock to Daryl Dixon that maybe it’s Beth Greene who knows him best.**

“Fuck,” he hisses and Michonne winches.

He’s no doctor but he’s pretty much an expect in pain and so he imagines his diagnosis is three cracked or broken ribs, concussion (not severe), a hell of a lot of deep tissue bruising, and a previously dislocated shoulder that Michonne had managed to pop back into place after he’d given her instructions as to how. Thing still fucking hurts though and probably will for a good long while, if Daryl’s previous experiences are anything to go off of.

And he’s got a lot of previous experience with this.

“We can stop,” she says over the rumble of the bike and he shakes his head, vision swimming. They’re not too far from the prison. And he can fight through this pain a bit longer. It’s a familiar foe.

“Nah.” he just wants to get home. Wants to get safe.

They’d been out looking for the Governor. Have been, for weeks now. Michonne is on a do or die mission to find the man, end him. Daryl tags along, doing his best to track, and also to scout future places for them to make runs to. They didn’t find the man — but they found a whole herd of cooped up walkers just waiting for some jackass to open up the fence they’d been trapped behind.

Yeah, Daryl had been that jackass.

He’d managed to knife a few, but there were dozens of the damn things, so he and Michonne had beat a hasty exit for the roofs, running across them and jumping the gaps when needed. It’d been the way back down that had caused all the trouble; walkers were coming for Michonne, were threatening to close in, so he’d thrown himself off the fire escape to kill them before they got her. And that is how he winds up with his ribs broken, his head cracked, and his entire torso feeling like an elephant used him for tap dancing practice.

The road winds and curves for the prison and he would let out a sigh of relief if breathing didn’t hurt so goddamn bad. He’s not getting them any further than the gate. Once inside, he’s going to shut his dang eyes and let someone else take care of things for a change. He’s never been so glad to see those chain link fences in all his life, swinging open to greet them like two arms for a hug. He gets them inside, cuts the engine, gives a nod to a clearly panicked Karen, and then slides right off the bike to embrace the ground and darkness.

“Daryl!”

When he comes to again, he realizes dimly that he’s being carried to the infirmary — the real infirmary, the one they cleared a few weeks ago so that the doctor could use it. Because now they have a real, proper doctor and ain’t that neat? He can hear voices — if he focuses, they’ll turn into Michonne, Dr. S, and… Only one shade of pale yellow that he knows that well. Beth? What's she doing bouncing around in front of him?

“What happened?” Dr. S demands and Daryl becomes aware that he’s being carried, strung up between two people. Fucking hurts his ribs is what it does.

“Upper torso trauma,” Michonne answers, panting like she’s out of breath. Huh. She must be carrying him. Stronger than she looks. “He took a pretty big fall to get some walkers that were cornering me. Dislocated his shoulder too, and I’m pretty sure he hit that thick head of his.”

“Glad you’re okay,” says the somewhat strained voice to Daryl's other side and he thinks, _ah, there’s Rick._

“We’re going to have to cut off his shirt, I need to look at his ribs,” the doctor orders and some part of him that’s a reflex twitches in discomfort at the suggestion.

“Oh, he’s not gonna like that,” says Beth’s sweet voice and he remembers, from a place far away, that she knows about his scars. He’d showed them to her, when he’d been out of his mind with grief over Merle. “He… Daryl doesn’t really like to show his back.”

“You have any better ideas?” Dr. S asks her shortly and there’s a pause of silence until suddenly Daryl's being heaved onto a bed. He manages to bite back a groan at the pain of it, but at least the sharp stabbing sensation brings him back to consciousness. Beth’s face appears to swim over him, concern turning those pretty blue eyes a bit darker.

“Daryl,” she says quietly, a hand resting on his cheek. “Daryl, we’re going to take your shirt off so that the doctor can look at your ribs, okay?”

“Cracked,” he tells her hoarsely, because he knows this is important. “Three.”

“Okay.” Beth pats his cheek gently. “We’re going to take your shirt off, promise you won’t fight, okay?”

He wants to tell her okay, fine, he won’t, but the pain is getting worse again and his head is throbbing at the lights so he just grunts and trusts that everyone here knows him well enough to understand that. Then gentle hands — Beth’s — are unzipping his jacket with the vest over the top. They better not hurt that fucking vest. He loves the damn thing. But then it slides off him and he hears the soft snick of scissors going through fabric and cold air that kinda feels good on his side.

“Holy…” he hears Rick say and he almost smiles, thinking _this ain’t nothing,_ not like the time that his daddy really beat the shit out of him, but then he blacks out again.

“…and please don’t say anything to him, when he comes to, you know?” Beth is speaking. Daryl uses the sound of her voice to drag himself back up from the depths of the darkness. “I don’t think anyone knows. I don’t think I was supposed to know. He’s not real chatty about it.”

“Doctor and patient confidentiality,” the man promises her and Daryl feels Beth’s fingertips drift over the back of his hand. He finds himself reaching for them before he can stop himself and hears Beth’s sharp little intake of breath.

“Daryl?”

“You back with us?” Dr. S appears to be floating around in a ball of bright white light. Daryl looks to his left, unsurprised to see an IV bag hanging and dripping down a line into his arm. “I’ve got you on some pretty strong painkillers. How are you feeling?”

“Mhmm.” words, tricky at the best of times, evade him entirely now.

“You were right,” the man compliments him. “Three ribs, cracked. And a nice concussion. You’re going to be on bed rest for a bit, but everything should be fine in a few weeks.”

“Michonne?” he asks, words a bit slurred. Oh, so these are the _good_ drugs. Well, ain’t that nice of them.

“She’s fine,” Beth says quickly and then she’s pressing something in his hands. When he looks down, he sees that it’s his vest, separated from his jacket now. She’s got all-knowing eyes, does this Beth Greene. It’s pretty damn annoying, especially when he pulls the vest on to cover his scarred shoulders and back and feels better for it, like a kid comforted by a blanket or a favorite stuffed animal.

“You better get some rest,” the doctor orders him and then turns to Beth. “Now, how about those bandaids you asked for before we got distracted?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks!” Beth’s voice fades as Daryl closes his eyes again, but he still feels the weight on her hand resting on his shoulder.

* * *

**Daryl Dixon knows he’s real thankful for how Beth Greene takes care of Judith.**

He’s sitting on Merle’s bike. He’s on some ridge somewhere, looking over the expanse of trees. Not a human in sight, or a building for that matter. Just a golden sunset over that beautiful green forest. He is alone, but he doesn't feel dread or fear. Doesn't have his bow with him or a knife or a gun. No, it is just him and the sunset on the bike, watching it. A perfect ending to… Something. He isn't sure what, just that it is peace.

“Daryl.” Beth suddenly appears and he glances at her. She’s smiling at him with such fondness his throat is tight. She takes a step forward, like she’s going to hop on the back of his bike again and wrap those little arms around him, press her nose against the back of his neck like she’s meant to fit there.

“Hey,” he says and for once his voice doesn’t sound raspy or gruff. He’s safe here. Everything is safe here, even her. Even them. “Watch the sunset with me?”

She obliges with a smile, her blonde ponytail swinging. She’s got a dress on, a floral print on that swishes about her knees prettily. She comes to sit beside him on the bike, looking out over the forest. He wonders if he can take her hand, hold it tightly, squeeze it. He doesn’t know why he wants to, only that he does. She turns to him, that same smile gracing her lips and says softly, “Daryl.”

“What?” he wants to ask her how she can look at him like he’s a good man. If he can touch her with his dirty hands on her pure skin and if she’ll mind. He doesn’t think she will, especially when she reaches up, places a hand on his shoulder and leans in to whisper in his ear,

“Daryl. Wake up, Daryl.”

He comes to with a start. Beth is actually hovering over him, but there’s no bike, no forest, no sunset, no floral dress. It’s the middle of the night, in the tower where he sleeps, and Beth is holding Judith on her hip, the little girl’s lower lip quivering like it does when she’s about to unleash the full might of her powerful wail. And Beth is in a loose sweater and pants, giving him a cautious look that’s nothing like the expression from his dream.

It’d been a dream, of course.

“What’s wrong?” he asks her groggily and Beth sits back.

“Nothing,” she assures him, “just the eight month sleep regression, I think.”

And Judith decides that the adults have had enough time to chat and promptly starts crying. Daryl, still a bit groggy from his sleep, groans and reaches for her. Beth unceremoniously dumps Judith into his arms and he lifts the little girl, inspecting her with a critical eye. “The fuck’s a sleep regression?”

It’s a testament to how tired Beth must be that she doesn’t chide him for his language around the little girl. Instead she collapses down with a long suffering sigh, shaking out her mess of blonde curls. “I dunno. My parenting book says it’s just something babies do when they get older. Says she’s getting bigger, figuring more stuff out. Makes her brain kinda haywire, can’t decide what schedule she wants.”

“Cause you’re getting smarter,” Daryl tells the little girl proudly, bouncing her on his stomach. “Doesn’t want a paci, or a bottle, or a song?”

“Nope.” Beth is arranging herself where she usually does at the other end of his mattress, under the extra blankets he keeps in here just for her. She doesn’t come up a lot, but she has a couple times. Sometimes Judith just needs to have a good cry and it’s easier in here where no one can hear her than everyone waking up in the cells. “Tried all that. And she don’t even wanna be rocked.”

“So you want Uncle Daryl?” he asks the little girl as her cries taper off into whimpers and he hears Beth snort.

“Tell her a story.” Beth’s voice is muffled, like she’s beneath several layers of blankets. He’s willing to bet she is. Girl is always cold, cause she's too damn skinny. He grins and opens his mouth when — “and age appropriate, Daryl Dixon!”

“Ain’t got no age appropriate stories for a baby,” he huffs but Judith does seem to calm a bit when she’s laying on his chest, like she likes the rumble, so he decides that it’s probably in their best interest to keep talking. “I ever tell you about the first time I laid down a bike? Think I was about seven. Merle’d brought it home, this piece of shit little mini-bike. Probably stole it, guess I’ll never know. But he brought it home like it was the neatest thing in the world and I thought it was.

“He told me to get on and take it slow, told me it ain’t nothing like riding a pedal bike. That when you add an engine, it becomes something else entirely. He was right, but I didn’t know that till I grabbed the throttle and took off across the yard. Merle running behind me, screaming, telling me to _let go, let go,_ like I’m some dumbass. So I don’t, of course, want to prove him wrong. And I think for a second that I got it, that I’m doing okay, and then I hit the gravel.

“I go flying. Bike goes flying. Merle’s over there, yelling his ass off, thinks I’m dead or damn near it. I had road rash up my side for a month. Hell, probably still got some grit and dirt in there, if I looked real close. Hurt like hell. Ruined the only good pair of jeans I had, but it was worth it. Cause when Merle went back to juvie, he left that bike with me and I learned to ride that thing. Never laid it down again, and that was when I knew I’d always have a bike, just one of those things that I knew for a fact.”

At the end of the story, Judith isn’t asleep but she’s not crying, mostly just laying there on Daryl’s chest. He starts rubbing her back in the way that usually settles her, wondering if Beth thought to bring up — yeah, there it is, the little stuffed lion that Judith loves so much. He grabs in and tucks it into Judith’s side, thinking that maybe they’ll all be able to get a little bit of sleep.

“Daryl?” Beth’s voice is soft, the way that it gets when she’s real tired and is only a few minutes away from sleep herself.

“Yeah?” if he rests one heavy palm on the little girl’s back, she seems to settle down.

“Thanks.”

“For?” he frowns a little bit.

“Just… Being here. Being you.” Beth sounds happy. He wonders if she’s sleeping already and this is just another dream. “It’s nice, having someone help me with Judith.”

“You got Rick.” and Rick is actually Judith’s father. Everyone is slowly putting the pieces together, so Carol must be explaining it. Because first Judith had been Beth and Daryl’s baby, since Rick could hardly look at her on his bad days. Then there was the misunderstanding that Judith was Beth and Rick’s baby, before finally everyone now understands that Judith isn’t Beth’s, isn’t Daryl’s, isn’t Carol’s. And yes, she’s technically not Rick’s either, but that’s beyond the point.

“Yeah, I know.” Beth’s voice drifts off. “Don’t wanna… Sleep by… Him though.” and then she must be well and truly asleep, because she gives that little snore she always does when she’s gone under.

Daryl holds Judith real still. The little girl appears to be dozing and he knows from experience that if he moves her, she will wake up and cry. And Beth is sleeping, which he knows is rare. So he’s gonna stay right here, keep his mouth shut, and not move a muscle, even though every nerve in his body is jumping, demanding that he get up, move, go, run, flee, fight, something to relieve the mounting tension in him.

She didn't mean it like that. She didn’t mean it like that. She did not mean it like that, because she’s not some dirty old pervert like him. She’s not sleeping with Rick. She’s not sleeping with Daryl. She’s not sleeping with anyone, because Beth Greene is a good girl. And she said sleep by, not sleep with, but his hearing is all fucked anyways. She comes up here because it’s a safe place for Judith to scream and because he told her she could, because he does love Judith.

But Beth Greene really shouldn’t say things like that. It makes his head hurt. And he’s not getting any sleep tonight anyways, not after that dream and Judith being as fussy as she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews are the most beloved. come and tell me what song is your fav beth or bethyl song cause i'm making a playlist folks.


	4. A Sense Of Deepening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends!! prison part 2!! if you guys have any questions on the timeline, let me know. this chapter ties pretty heavily into no red thread :)

**It’s not that Daryl Dixon isn’t smart, he just knows different things than Beth Greene.**

“How are you doing?” Daryl asks Rick, coming down from the guard tower. Rick hands him a bowl filled with something hot and liquid; Daryl doesn’t even care what it is, only that it’s warm. It gets cold up in the tower, especially with the windows blown out. He’s really glad for the thick socks he’s got shoved in his boots.

“All’s quiet,” Rick mentions, looking out over the field. “Thought it might be nice to go check out the snares today, see what we’ve caught.”

“I got it,” Daryl mutters. He’s been getting cagey anyways, eager to get away from the prison. He feels like he’s always got a set of eyes on him; someone from Woodbury looking at him and saying thanks when he comes back from a run, one of those little kids watching him like he’s some sort of hero when he is out restringing his bow, even Beth when she comes to find him to show him how Judith is smiling or giggling or likes it when you blow raspberries on her belly.

Speaking of…

“Rick!” Beth comes across the yard, a little bit breathless. She gives Daryl a smile that he returns by way of a raise of eyebrows.

“You okay? Judith?” Rick asks right away and Beth shakes her hands.

“She’s fine.” she gives a quick glance over her shoulder to the way she came. “With Carol. But my Daddy sent me to tell you he wants to talk to you, in the library.”

“Everything okay?” Rick asked worriedly and Beth bobs a nod, all bright and sunshine with her golden halo of hair. “Well, I was just going to help Daryl with the snares.”

“Oh.” Beth glances at Daryl, shoulders raising and dropping. “Well, I can help him if he needs it, don’t worry.”

“Yeah?” Rick smiles at her but raises his eyebrows at Daryl in the way that he knows is how Rick asks, _you okay with this?_

Daryl gives a little one shouldered shrug; _don’t bother me none._ So Rick smiles and claps Beth’s shoulder before heading back inside, heading towards the library. Beth watches him go for a second, then turns back to Daryl with a smile. “We going?”

“Yeah.” he hadn’t been lying to Rick, he doesn’t mind having Beth watch his back. She’s proven herself competent before. So he finishes off his meal and leaves the bowl by the gate, slinging on a bag and then his bow over the top of that. Beth has her gun in her back pocket and her knife on her belt, but she still grabs one of the longer machetes that they keep on the fence for when they have to kill walkers on the chainlink. He nods in approval and then they head out of the prison, towards the little gap in the fence.

“Looks like we’ve cleared most of the walkers,” Beth mentions, as he undoes the hole in the fence. It’s a damn sight quieter than the gate and doesn’t require any other help. It is quiet around the prison, which he hopes bodes well. They’ve been losing food to walkers who get to their snares before them.

“Eyes up,” he orders and Beth has her knife raised in one hand, nodding, scanning the area. He keeps a hand on his bow, walking to where their snares are set up. He damn near smiles when he sees their haul — a couple of coons, weasels, and even some quail. It’ll be enough. He gathers them up and tucks them into the sack, resetting the snares. He looks up when he hears the moaning, shuffling, snarling that can only mean one thing but when he turns, Beth has already killed the walker with a blow to the head.

“Don’t hear anymore.” Beth kicks the walker aside and peers into the trees, unbothered.

“Nah, but we better go quick,” he tells her and Beth nods, heading back with him until —

“Oh!” she stops dead in her tracks and Daryl stops as well, bow up before he’s even really conscious of raising it. But he doesn’t hear walkers, he doesn’t hear other footsteps, he only hears Beth’s little gasp of delight.

“What?” he demands and then sees what he’s missed, being so focused on the animals and anything coming for them from the forest. A clump of blueberries, having evidently not been picked over by the birds yet. Beth is already unzipping her jacket so that she can pull out her shirt to make a little bowl for them. She seems to trust that he’ll watch her back, so he does just that, bow up and ready while Beth plucks the bush clean.

“The kids are gonna be thrilled,” she says quietly and he glances back at her while she grins. “Fresh fruit this late, we’re lucky it’s been pretty mild lately.”

“Yeah.” Daryl’s frozen ass fingers and toes would beg to differ, but he lets her have it.

“Alright.” Beth is apparently satisfied with her haul, turning to look at him. She can hold her shirt with one hand and her knife with the other but he knows it’s going to be impossible for her to fight properly. So he follows her, keeping his eyes open and crossbow at the ready until they’re back to the fence and Beth is slipping through, then him, and they string it back together. Beth grins at him. “Good teamwork, huh?”

“Yeah.” he has to admit, it’s pleasant to have Beth with. She’s not overly chatty, like Glenn can be. And she’s not prone to panic at the slightest hit of noise like some of the Woodbury folk. She’s a far cry from the scared little girl she’d been when he showed up at her farm.

“Kids are gonna be thrilled,” she says, looking down with happiness at her haul.

“Gonna share them?” he looks at her in some surprise. He figured she’d savor them herself, but of course she’s not selfish like that.

“Course. Don’t think Judith’s ever had blueberries not from a jar before.” her smile is so bright it almost pains him to look at. “And there’s enough for everybody to have a few.”

“Wash ‘um off first,” he says, like she doesn’t already know that. But Beth is just smiling at him so prettily that he feels like maybe he doesn’t always put his foot in his mouth around her.

He drops the bag of game off with Karen, who’s on kitchen duty. She’s grateful for the meat but most of her attention is on Beth, who has the blueberries. Daryl sees a group of kids hanging out in the yard, the same kids that always seem to be around when he’s doing just about anything, so he decides that he’s going to go spend the day planning runs with Glenn and Maggie, if they’re not too busy 'on watch' in the guard tower. Not even the cold deters those two from their intimate time together and honestly, he admires their commitment.

They’re just trying to determine where they might find more toilet paper (shit runs out damn quick around here) when Beth comes bouncing into the library, Judith back on her hip. All three of them look up, but she just slides a bowl in front of Daryl with a grin and a little wink before turning on her heel and going back out.

“What the hell — are those blueberries?” Glenn demands, picking one up and looking at it in astonishment. Maggie is looking at the door Beth disappeared through with a curious expression. Daryl manages to choke down his smile — only just — and pops a few in his mouth to relish the sweetness.

“Uh huh.”

* * *

**And what Daryl Dixon doesn’t know, Beth Greene seems determined to teach him.**

Daryl is growing more comfortable with the position he’s found himself in at the prison with the addition of the Woodbury people. Rick’s right hand man, for one, though Rick is doing less leading these days. And somehow he’s on the council, by recommendation of Hershel and with some strong-arming by Carol. He can mostly keep to himself, if he doesn’t spend too much time in the prison. He spends his time on runs, on watch, hunting, or helping build shit around the place. Sometimes he still goes with Michonne to look for the Governor but that’s slowing. He’s needed around here.

They got some pens for the pigs Rick brought in, and they built a shelter outside for them to eat under, and they’re slowly but surely getting things straightened up. It’s starting to feel like home, in a way that no place ever has. Not the house his mama burned down, not the trailer full of violence and pain, not the motels and shit he crashed in with Merle. It makes him uncomfortable, makes his skin itch, but sometimes… Sometimes it feels nice too.

“Hey.” Maggie is up and coming down the steps to the yard, blinking in the morning sunlight.

“Hey,” he replies, wondering what today will bring. They’re not planning on a run and technically, it’s his day to rest. But he gets twitchy if he doesn’t keep moving, especially after what happened last night with Beth and his explosion to her about his so-called fan club. He shouldn’t have dumped all that shit on her, shouldn’t have made her have to reassure him over his fears of losing people and being responsible for everyone, but sometimes he feels like she’s the only one who can. And that’s all sorts of disconcerting.

“You helping out today?” Maggie asks him and he looks at her with a frown, still cleaning his gun. 

“What’s today?” he demands and Maggie grins slightly, glancing over her shoulder.

Oh. Fuck. That’s Beth, carrying out a few tubs and a bulky bag on her back. Daryl resists the urge to scamper away, to turn and flee like a kid threatened with a whooping. That’s exactly who he doesn’t want to see this morning, his emotions still all rubbed raw and anger after last night. He always seems to lose himself with her, let go of any of the carefully held control he’s been learning. All she does is look at him with her little smile and her knowing eyes and — _"But you’re a good fucking person Daryl and you know it. You know it! And it don’t matter how you were made. It matters what you do.”_ — and then he breaks down, lets out all the fears he has in his head to her like it’s her job to fix him.

The thing is, she usually does.

“Morning,” Beth calls cheerfully, like nothing’s happened, like everything is fine and dandy. He wishes the earth would open up and swallow him but he can’t run, cause then Maggie would guess that something’s up, so he stays put. “You helping us out today, Daryl Dixon?”

How the hell can she just act like this is nothing? How can she even look at him last night, after he’d screamed at her, loomed over her like his daddy used to with his mama? Ain't she terrified of him, that he might hurt her cause he don't know no better? He swallows hard, his mouth oddly dry and looks at what’s in her arms, trying to force his voice to work and not sound like she’s got her slim fingers wrapped around his windpipe. “Doing what?”

“We’re going to get ready for planting,” she explains, setting the tubs down. The bag on her back appears to be for gardening, full of spades and gloves. “We can get stuff planted in here, let them start growing inside with us. Then when we move them out when it's warm enough, they’ll be already ready to go.”

“Bethy had a huge herb garden back on the farm.” Maggie has a wistful smile on her face. “Be nice to have fresh vegetables and stuff for a change.”

“The kids are coming with the seed packets and Carl and the boys are bringing up the dirt,” Beth states and Maggie nods.

“Glad they can get involved. Probably more important for them to learn how to grow their food than the pythagorean theorem anyways.” Maggie sighs and Daryl blinks because he sure as hell doesn’t know what that is.

“No reason we can’t do both.” Beth is still awfully cheerful, setting out what appears to be stations for kids to work at. “You know, they used to say that after the Black Plague, human advancement was set back hundreds of years. I bet this is going to be even worse.”

“Ray of fucking sunshine you are,” Daryl mutters darkly because who the fuck knows that kind of shit? Not him. He didn’t even make it past ninth grade before dropping out. But Beth is not deterred, smiling at him as she places a tub in front of him.

“Takes one to know one.”

And just like that, he’s apparently on babysitting duty today.

The kids spill up into the yard, bundled up against the cold but all happy, laughing and yelling and carrying their tools. Beth directs them with a smile and they listen to her, taking their places. The boys that form his ‘fan club’ as Beth had termed it, stop abruptly when they spot him, sitting at the end of the table. Beth just cheerfully tells them to get some tools and some dirt, that they’ll start by filling up the tubs.

Daryl feels like a little kid again but it’s not so bad. Beth is teaching everyone — more like guiding the chaos really — and he’s not the only adult here. Maggie is sitting to his left, and Hershel is out here, smiling at Beth. He’s quiet, listening to the kids chatter. And Beth is right. They are still kids, still soft and innocent. Carl, who Daryl thinks of as his own, doesn’t have that anymore. Doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be able to get that back. But these kids, they’re still kids. Still think of superheroes and cartoons and everything that they should. They’re not like him. They’re not broken.

Beth drifts around the table, helping the kids poke seeds into the dirt, helping them cover it up with the soft dirt. She pauses behind Daryl and he can feel her heat on his back. He just keeps sprinkling the seeds into the soil and patting little mounds over the top of them. He’s not sure if the fingers across his shoulders are real or imagined, but he breaks out in goosebumps regardless.

“Nicely done,” Hershel mutters to him when it’s all over and Beth is having the kids go around to talk about what they’ve planted, if it’s a root or an herb or a vegetable, and what they’re going to make with it when it’s all grown and harvested.

“Mine is a vegetable and it’s a carrot and I’m gonna make chicken noodle soup!”

“Mine is a tomato and it’s a vegetable and I’m gonna make a BLT!”

“No, a tomato is a fruit. Ms. Beth, tell Ricardo you said a tomato is a fruit!”

Beth’s eyes are sparkling when they get to him. He raises one eyebrow, fully expecting her to skip him but Beth — _Ms. Beth_ — lowers her chin and fixes him with a stern look. So he picks up the packet and looks at her. “Uh, Basil. Herb. And I don’t know what the hell you use that for.”

“Well, Daryl, if you get me some walnuts, I’ll make pesto,” Beth tells him with a little smile and he glowers at her while the kids around him bounce on their chairs and ask _Ms. Beth what is pesto_ and _what do you put it on_ and _is it good?_

The kids are eager to bring their hard work back inside, and Daryl somehow winds up in the middle of it, helping carry in their tubs while they chatter at him about what they’re going to grow and what they learned and he thinks that maybe this isn’t so bad. When they just see him as another adult and he can look at them as kids and everything will be okay. They’re in a safe place. He doesn’t have to save them all.

They’re not Sophia.

He bends down to help one of the little girls — Mia or Mya or something — with her radishes and when he looks up, Beth is watching him with a knowing smile like she knows exactly what this is, like she planned this all out. He wouldn’t be surprised if she did. So instead he grunts and gives her a little nod.

Goddamn Beth Greene.

* * *

**Beth Greene knows so much about Daryl Dixon, he almost wants to know her the same way.**

“Are we having fun?” Beth is cooing to Judith. Daryl, across from her, hides his smile. It’s a quiet evening, the kind where everyone is so tired after the day of fence duty, runs, and planting that they sort of collapse down and stay where they sit. He likes it. Likes that it’s peaceful. The kids are chattering in the corner, talking and bickering while the rest of the adults hang out in small groups. Daryl is working on sharpening knives, thinking about a few places he can go to hunt tomorrow.

It’s Beth’s sharp gasp that makes him snap his head up in alarm. He doesn’t recall ever actively becoming attuned to the sounds she makes, just that he has and that's the sort of noise she makes when she’s been real upset. His first thought is Judith — but the baby girl is still gurgling all happily. He’s not even on his feet yet when she stands, scoops the little girl up, dumps her in Carl’s arm and then races off. He only hesitates for half a second before he follows.

Something has to be wrong. Has to be.

She’s in her cell, sitting on her bed, and he stops dead in the doorway. He had figured that something was wrong but now that he’s seeing her crying, it’s a different thing entirely. What sort of jackass is he, going to comfort her? Yeah, she’s always there when he’s having a meltdown, but that doesn’t mean that she’s ever going to want him there for any of hers. He’s about to turn and leave her the hell alone when she hears him and looks up.

“Oh, Daryl.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, wondering if he should explain to her why the hell he thought he could follow her in the first place. Beth gives a little sniffle.

“Bet I spooked you, running off like that.” she looks up at him with a watery smile and if he wasn’t spooked before he would be now because how the hell did she sneak up on him like that, knowing why he does what he does? “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t seem like nothing,” he grumbles and Beth holds out her hand. For a second he doesn’t know what to think, then he realizes she’s offering him something. It’s the necklace she’s always worn, since the very first day he met her. A silver heart with little stones in it, on a thin, delicate chain.

A chain that’s snapped now.

“Judith grabbed it,” she explains with a little sigh. “Shoulda known better, she loves grabbing at shiny things. Ripped it right off, cause she’s getting so strong. But… It’s all I have left. Of my mom.”

His heart sinks. Well, that makes sense. Most things they got on them these days, it’s not for shits and giggles. It’s for survival or for sentimentality, no room for anything else. But part of him, the part that tends to underestimate Beth Greene, had always assumed that it was just a pretty necklace for a pretty girl. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Beth swipes at her tears. “Pretty silly, huh? But when she got sick, she told me that I could wear it, hang onto it till she got better. Thought there was a way to get better back then. And when she died…” he has a sudden, terrible flash of the way he’d shot her mother, stomach turning.

“Ain’t broken,” he remarks, turning the thing over in his rough palms. Beth looks up with a frown.

“Chain’s snapped, Daryl,” she says like it’s obvious and he waves a hand.

“Ain’t nothing.” he turns and walks out of the cell, necklace still clutched in his fingers. Beth follows, a bit confused. People glance at them when they go back through the common room and towards Daryl’s tower but no one says anything as they go clanking up the stairs together. Inside, he rummages around in his bag until he is successful in finding what he’s looking for — some cord he’d been saving in case of an emergency.

Guess this is as much an emergency as anything.

He ties knots around the heart charm, fashioning it into a longer loop than it had been previously. He tightens it with his teeth, Beth watching him silently. When he's sure that thing is going to hold, he offers it back to her. Beth bows her head and after a moment, he realizes she wants him to put it around her neck. Careful not to touch her, he places the cord over her head.

"How's it look?" she asks him, lifting her hair off her neck. The cord is longer than the chain had been; now instead of sitting just below the hollow of her throat, it hangs level with her chest. Daryl fights not to look, giving her a shrug and a grunt to hide the strangled panic rising in his chest. Beth gives it an experimental tug. "Seems a lot stronger. Judith shouldn't be able to yank it off."

"Got more, if you need it," he mumbles and Beth smiles, touching his arm. At least she doesn't go for a hug. That's a small blessing.

"Thanks Daryl. This is real sweet of you."

He glares at the implication that he's sweet, but it's a moot point honestly. Beth knows he is, because half the time Beth's the one on the receiving end of his sweetest actions. Girl just has something in her, something so light and pure, that it brings out the best in others. In him, specifically, and that's a whole different mess to look into.

"G'on." he waves her out of his space (not like it's doing any good, the blankets usually smell like her and Judith anyways) and then follows her back down to everyone.

"Things okay?" Maggie asks with a bit of concern. She's holding Judith now and Beth nods, squatting in front of her and smiling at Judith.

"Yeah, she just got my necklace, but Daryl fixed it."

He fixed it. Daryl's hands don't usually fix nothing. Daryl's hands are usually destruction and death. He looks down at the calloused palms, the scarred and bulky knuckles. Nothing like the smooth and long fingers of Beth's hands. But these hands can still fix things.

He flexes them and goes back to sit where Rick and Michonne are talking lowly. He doesn't look at Beth, but he can hear her telling stories to Judith.

* * *

**Daryl Dixon doesn’t know when making Beth Greene smile because such a priority.**

"Man." Glenn folds his arms over his rifle, looking up into the sun. "Do you remember malls? I remember malls."

"You sound like a fourteen year old girl," Sasha answers, looking over at Daryl with a smirk. He's more accustomed to Glenn's whimsy than she is, so he just shrugs.

"Arcades?" Glenn is still talking. "Do you guys remember Pac-Man? I remember Pac-Man. I wonder if I'm still the high score back home."

"Let's hop in the car and drive up, find out," Sasha teases and Glenn nods, like he's considering it.

"And the food court. I miss the food court." Glenn has a wistful look in his eyes. "Corn Dogs. Curly fries. I miss pouring straight grease down my throat."

"You want us to raid the mall or what?" Daryl demands and Glenn lights up.

"Think we could?"

"No," Daryl says flatly and Glenn's face falls.

"Too many walkers," Sasha agrees. "Take too long to clear it and for what?"

"For Pac-Man," Glenn mutters darkly and Daryl snorts, looking up when he hears the sound of footsteps on pavement.

"Took you guys long enough," Sasha says to the second group coming up the road to them. They are hitting a neighborhood today, two separate teams. Daryl, Glenn, and Sasha are already done with their haul, having loaded up the truck with their finds.

"Sorry," Gavin pants, setting down a plastic tote filled with things. "Hit the jackpot. Third house from the end, yellow shutters? Must've been a survival nut. House is stocked with stuff."

"No shit?" Sasha looks at Daryl, who gives her a nod. "You should've sent someone to get us."

"What do you think I'm doing?" Gavin points out, as Glenn helps him heave the tote into the bed of the truck.

"We'll keep watch, you guys go," Glenn assures them so Sasha and Daryl take off down the street, to the house with the yellow shutters. The door is cracked and he can hear the voices of Zach and Maggie inside. When he pushes the door open, he sees the dead walker in the living room.

"Need help?" Sasha offers, sticking her head into the kitchen.

"We cleared upstairs, but we haven't even gotten to it yet," Maggie tells them, grinning. They've got more totes in the kitchen, overflowing with cans and cases. "Either this guy was an extreme couponer or really liked soup."

"I got upstairs," Daryl says, as Sasha opens the pack on her back. He takes the stairs, bow still raised in case they've missed something. Wouldn't be the first time.

It's clear and so Daryl starts with the bathroom first, opening the cupboards and tossing the toilet paper, shampoo, and soap into the hallway. There's a well stocked first aid kit that he adds to the pile, as well as towels and a few cleaning supplies. Once he's cleaned that room out, he goes for the master bedroom, grabbing some clothes and shoes. Someone at the prison will need them.

The next bedroom doesn't contain much of anything; if Daryl had to hazard a guess, he would assume it was a guest bedroom, once. He feels under the bed for anything of use, then heads to the final door on the landing. When he opens it, he can't help but feel the sadness weigh down his first steps into what clearly had once been a child's bedroom.

If this was a different world, Daryl would slowly shut the door, leave it as a shrine to another life lost, and go back downstairs. But this isn't that life anymore. And Daryl has people he cares about now, people who are living and can use these items. So he walks in and starts picking up the dusty toys and books, stopping to look at the picture on the bedside table. It's a red haired woman, beaming at the camera with her arms wrapped around a brown haired girl, both them wearing matching purple shirts. He gives them a little nod and then pauses.

Above the bed is a string of Christmas lights. He has no idea if they work or not. They could've burnt out long ago. But for some reason, he unplugs them, winds them into a neat bundle, and adds them to the pile. Someone might have use for them and he thinks he knows who.

"Looks like you got some goods too," Zach remarks, when Daryl comes down the stairs with his backpack crammed full. He nods and then bends down, grunting to pick up a container filled with boxes of pasta. Maybe they'll get spaghetti night after all.

When they get back to the truck, Daryl notices two more walker bodies on the sidewalk nearby. He raises an eyebrow at Glenn, who gives a shrug as if to say there's nothing to do about it. Maggie, Sasha, and Zach follow, their totes barely fitting in the truck. Sasha ends up riding on the back of Daryl's bike to make more room in the truck for the goods.

"Hey." he stops in front of Beth's room, looking in at her. For once she doesn't have Judith, so she's laying in bed with a few books and her journal. She's always scribbling in it, tongue poking out from between her teeth. She looks up and barely has a second to react before he tosses her the Christmas lights.

"Where did you get these?" she asks him with delight and he shrugs. It'd make her sad if he told her the truth so he doesn't. Beth's been slowly decorating her cell by plastering up lyrics to songs she'd scribbled down and pictures she'd cut from magazines. She seems bound and determined to make this place livable, to make this place a home.

It makes him think of the girl she could've been. The girl he gets glimpses of, every now and then. Like when he and Michonne had brought that horse back and Beth had hopped up on it like it was nothing and took off, riding around the yard. She'd looked so damn normal then, smiling so wide and it occurred to him that she should be back on the farm, thinking about colleges and partying and what sorority she was gonna join, not tossing pretty smiles at some redneck and teasing him.

She kneels and plugs the lights in. He's not sure what's brighter, them or her smile.

"Glad they work," he mutters and Beth grins.

"I'll hang them up over the desk," she decides, looking critically at her cell. "And that way I can write even when it gets dark. These are perfect Daryl, thank you."

"Found toys for the kids too," he tells her, like a dog desperate for a pat to the head. Beth gives him an appreciative smile.

"The kids are gonna be real thrilled, Daryl. Thanks for doing all that."

"Sasha, Maggie, Zach, Glenn, and Gavin helped," he mentions, feeling guilty for taking all the credit. Beth has a knowing look on her face as she starts to tack up the lights, draping them over her pictures and notes.

"Thanks," she repeats and he stays for a moment to catch how the light makes her hair shine.

* * *

**It takes time, but eventually everyone knows that if you mess with Beth Greene, you’ll also get Daryl Dixon.**

Daryl has a distinct memory of being eight years old, out in the woods with Merle and his father, going hunting for a buck. He was trying to walk as quietly as he could so that his father wouldn't get angry and strike him with the butt end of the rifle. He'd snapped a twig not ten feet into the forest that morning and the spot behind his ear still smarted from the jab he’d earned for such a mistake. He trailed behind both of them, trying to read the signs in the thick undergrowth.

He was worried his stomach was going to rumble. It usually did, these days. He was always hungry, the low level pain gnawing on his gut day in and day out. He could get free lunches at school. The teachers had asked him once if he wanted them, and he'd said yes. But then his daddy had said no Dixon would ever take charity and told Daryl to stop being a fucking pussy.

So now he mostly went hungry.

He stopped when Merle and his father slowed, exchanging a look that Daryl knew meant there was some sort of prey ahead. He fell back, lest he scare it away and be in a world of trouble and hurt. His father hoisted the gun, set it squarely in his shoulder, and took aim.

They always had to hurry to get the deer back to the truck. Daryl never understood why until later.

"We'll be eating good tonight," Merle crowed, driving them home on the back roads. Their father was in the passenger seat, already drinking. Daryl rode in the back, bouncing with every rut.

"Too bad your worthless mama can't cook to save her goddamn life," he slurred and then turned to face Daryl, sitting in the back seat and hoping to avoid any sort of conversation. "You remember that boy; a woman is only good for sucking your dick and making your dinner. You find one that can do both, great. But your mama's a fucking drunk, and ain't good at either. That's why I gotta find others who do it better."

So that was what Daryl learned and knew, growing up. His mama was a piece of shit who couldn't do the only job given to her. Women were only good for a few things. Merle took enthusiastically to those teachings, but Daryl never did. All he knew for sure was that he hated the way his daddy talked to and about his mama, and he hated all the women Merle brought back when he got older.

It's not until the goddamn apocalypses that he thinks about his father's wisdom and just how wrong he is, because women are good for a goddamn lot and Daryl sees it, each and every day. Maggie can kill a walker as quick as any of them. Carol's about as good a shot as he's ever known. Beth minds those kids better than he could with a lifetime of patience. Cindy can fix a meal for 75 people with two potatoes and can of green beans and it tastes better than anything he's had before. Sasha has his back better than just about anyone.

And Judith always makes them smile.

But just because good ol' William Dixon is dead, doesn't mean his ideologies are too.

"Hey." Beth's voice raises over the din of clattering plates and forks. Daryl looks up but she's not addressing him; she's looking at one of the guys who's standing up in front of her, a guy from Woodbury who always seems to be making trouble.

"I'm just asking for seconds," the man says with a smile and Daryl can't see Beth's face but he can see the tense line of her shoulders, the tight grip on the tongs she'd been using to turn over the meat.

"The kids get first pick," she says, still polite and sweet. That's the rule, that's been the rule since pretty much the first day. The kids don't go hungry. The kids never go hungry. All the adults wait for second helpings until the kids are done, make sure that there's enough to go around.

"They're done, I bet. C'mon darling, I'm a growing man." the man keeps trying to wheedle her and Beth glances to where the kids are sitting.

"I'll ask them if they're still hungry," she offers cheerfully, "and if they're not, I'll give you another piece. How's that sound?"

"Don't be such a bitch," the man mutters lowly, so that anyone distracted by their own conversation won't hear it. "You probably take more than anyone and all you do is stand inside with those kids. I need more food. I _deserve_ more food."

Daryl's heard about enough. He stands, intent on coming over to deck the guy or at least give him a hell of an ass-kicking when Beth retorts, her voice low and dangerous. "If you've got such a problem with how rations are being split, you can address the council. Or you can come over here and fight me over the rest of this meat, but it's going to go to the kids if they need it and you'll have to go through me first."

The man looks, for half a second, like he might actually be considering that. His lips start to curl up into a sneer, he starts to open his mouth, to probably spit something stupid, but then he looks up. And spots Daryl, standing behind Beth. He freezes as Daryl stares him down, reaching down to grab the knife he keeps on his hip, using it to pick at something stuck between his teeth.

The man visibly pales. Beth doesn't turn around to see what's scaring him so she either hears Daryl's approach or really thinks that the man is shying away from fighting her but she just clears her throat and the man slinks off slowly. Then she goes back to turning the meat over like nothing has happened.

Daryl hangs around until everyone is done, and volunteers for dish duty even if it isn't his turn, telling himself that it's not because he's minding Beth (she doesn't need minding) but because it's not just the women who should be watching dishes.

* * *

**Daryl Dixon doesn’t know how much boy talk he can stand, especially about Beth Greene.**

"Wait, wait, wait." Zach holds up a hand and Daryl raises an eyebrow. "I really think I got it this time."

"Oohoo, let's hear it." Sasha leans against the frame of the truck, intrigued.

"WWE wrestler," Zach declares with the utmost confidence and is greeted with complete silence until Sasha breaks it with,

"Wait, is that meant to be fucking serious?"

"Well?" Zach gets defensive. "He totally has like, the silent and brooding vibe going. And he can fight! I dunno."

"Kid." Sasha shakes her head. "You suck at this."

"You try!" Zach implores her and Sasha narrowed her eyes, turning onto Daryl. He doesn't balk under her gaze; he's pretty sure that no one from the Woodbury group can get under his skin. Zach started this little game a few runs ago, when everyone had been talking about what they'd been before.

Zach was in college, going for physical education. Wanted to be a gym teacher, like a good old American boy. Sasha was a firefighter, always off to help people. Glenn had shrugged and said he delivered pizzas. Daryl's pretty sure the rest of the group took that as a joke. Funny that it's not.

Daryl hadn't said anything, which was what made Zach start guessing. So far he's gone through biker, long haul trucker, lineman, construction worker, mechanic, and more. Daryl refuses to confirm or deny any of it. Half because it's funny to see just what the hell the kid is going to come up with.

And half because he doesn't want to admit that he was nothing but a redneck asshole fuckup degenerate.

"Welder," Sasha states after contemplating for a few minutes and Zach's eyebrows fly up. "He was fixing the fence the other week."

"Oh shit, that's a good guess." Zach looks suitably impressed, swinging to look at Daryl imploringly. "Yeah, let's go with a welder."

He's not no damn welder. He'd just picked up some tips and tricks following Merle around is all, trying to keep shit working or put shit back together after it'd already fallen apart. He's not that handy with a soldering gun but he's got enough know-how to work one. But still, he just gives a little shrug that doesn't go one way or the other and Sasha groans.

"How can that not be it?"

"No. Nope. No more of this," Zach declares, shaking his head. "When we get this shit home, I'm bringing in the big guns."

"Big guns, huh?" Daryl arches one eyebrow. "Ain't you got a big enough gun there, kid?"

Zach brushes off the AK on his shoulder. "Nope. I'm bringing in Beth."

Oh _fuck._

"Beth?" Sasha asks in a tone that is a bit too knowing. Daryl's skin starts to prickle when she asks, "and when did you start looking at the farmer's daughter, QB1?"

"I wasn't QB, I was the tailback," Zach corrects her without missing a beat and Daryl scoffs, because of fucking course. That's why he calls them a damn romance novel, cause it's every shitty trope that Merle would've loved while pretending to hate. "And yeah, it's new. But it's pretty nice."

Then he gives Daryl a smile and a rather suggestive raise of his eyebrows that's clearly meant to say _'am I right man?'_

Daryl doesn't smile back. In fact, Daryl is actively working to suppress a frown and a growl. Because Beth is just a — well, she's not a kid anymore. He can't use that excuse, she's 18 now. But she's like... A sister. A kid sister. Yeah. That's why he doesn't want to hear anything about her and Zach, cause it'd be the same as hearing about Merle, and no one wants that.

"How'd that start?" Sasha may be tough as nails but apparently she's not able to resist the urge to ask about a good love story. Daryl rolls his eyes, wishing the subject would change, but there ain't shit else for them to do, sitting in the middle of the parking lot and waiting for the others to finish up rigging their traps for the walkers.

"Remember that day, with Daryl's bike?" Zach asks and Daryl's heart gives an unexpected flip. Yeah, he can't forget that stupid day with his stupid bike, Beth with that stupid marker and that little defiant look on her face when she'd stared right up at him, daring him to tell her that she messed up. She didn't. Of course she didn’t. He always thought that she saw him as a better person than he actually was. But apparently, she's going to shape him into one as well, by sheer strength of will. Because she's Beth Greene and of course she can.

“Yeah,” Sasha snorts, glancing at the thing. Daryl is currently straddling it, the now mostly black frame between his legs.

“I thought she was out of her mind. I mean, he loves that bike.” Zach is enjoying telling the story, but Daryl’s not sure he wants to hear about this particular romance novel. “Bravest girl in the whole prison, hands down. She walks right up, like she’s coloring in a coloring book or something. And I asked her if she was going to run and she just has this look in her eye, this gleam, and she tells me that she won’t.”

“Bravest girl, huh?” Sasha remarks with a look to Daryl that he returns with a scowl. That's not why Beth's brave. She's smart, is what she is, knows that he'll never touch her because she sees him as a good guy. She's brave because she still can love in this new world, because she can take down walkers, because she chose to live this life despite all the pain and suffering and grief around them. But Daryl doesn't say any of that.

Zach continues, undeterred. “So I’m thinking in my head like wow, this girl is beautiful. Blonde and blue eyes, just… Like, she’s like a good girl, you know? And she’s sorta a badass. And then when Daryl here comes out, she goes toe to toe with him. And I’m like, _damn.”_

Damn indeed. Daryl had thought the same thing at the time. _Damn._ Because this Beth Greene is not the Beth Greene he’d met on her farm. That girl could hardly look him in the eyes. That girl was timid and shy, running out of the room whenever he so much as cracked a little joke. Made him feel real shitty, real undeserving of being in a house like that. That Beth Greene made him feel like he was just another dirty redneck that she looked down her pretty little stuck up nose at.

But this Beth Greene… She’d covered those symbols up because she knows that it’s not his way, not him, not who he wants to be. She’d done what he hadn’t been brave enough to do himself and she’d shown him the way to it. This Beth Greene stands there in her little cowboy boots and looks up at him like he’s never going to do anything to her, like he can’t even muster up a harsh word against her. And this Beth Greene is right, he looks at her most days and thinks that she’s right, she’s always right.

“So when’d you make your move, Romeo?” Sasha demands and Zach grins.

“Asked her to go for a walk in the yard, told her I thought she was beautiful, and asked if I could kiss her.” he doesn’t sound boastful or rude. He sounds… Happy. It makes it harder for Daryl to get mad at him, to hate him for making moves on the girl that Daryl considers as a kid sister.

Course, the people that she’s actually a kid sister to seem awfully pleased by this match, which is bothersome.

“Well congrats.” Sasha gives him a smile. “It’s nice to have some brightness around the complex. And Beth’s a sweet girl. Which brings me back to the original question.” Sasha swings to look at him, dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Why’s Beth the big guns for Daryl’s past?”

It’s a damn good thing that he’s spent a lifetime honing an iron will of control. When Daryl tells his body to stay still, to not move, then it doesn’t. Nothing can spook or rattle him. And it's a damn good thing, because the piercing gaze Sasha is leveling at him makes it feel like every nerve in his body has been replaced with a live wire that someone is going to trip. He just sits, silently, and waits to implode on himself like some kind of supermassive black hole.

“She’s known him longest,” Zach says, like it should be obvious, and Daryl starts to defuse the bomb that is his emotions, piece by piece. “And every time I ask her about him, she tells me to leave it alone. But they’ve got inside jokes.”

They do? Daryl’d be damned.

“Like what?” Sasha questions, evidently thinking that this is some sort of joke that Daryl and Zach are in on together, trying to pull a fast one over on her. Because it’s so unbelievable that someone like Beth Greene can look at Daryl Dixon, right? Because girls like Beth Greene wind up with boys like Zach. Not old dirty rednecks. That’s why everyone is so happy.

“Daryl calls us a damn romance novel,” Zach explains, laughing. “Every time he does, Beth’ll mutter about what the hell he knows about romance novels. Then when he caught us kissing once, they were laughing about something to do with… His brother.” Zach trails off here, having evidently recalled that they’d stopped laughing when he’d asked who Merle was.

“Huh.” Sasha is smart as hell, Daryl knows that. She probably has a hundred thoughts in her head that she’s not saying. And the look she’s giving him is making him utterly uncomfortable, so he feels the need to grumble,

“Dropping my laundry shit off. Not my fault they were kissing back there.”

“Well don’t break her heart.” Sasha still has a mighty suspicious look on her face, aimed at Daryl. He looks away, not sure what he doesn’t want to face. “If you do, I’m pretty sure Maggie could rip your heart out of your chest barehanded.”

Oh, if Zach breaks her heart, Daryl’ll do a lot worse than that to him. No one is making Beth Greene cry, no one is giving her a bit of sadness after everything that she’s fought through to be here. He’ll toss Zach to the walkers himself to make sure that the girl stays happy, stays smiling and singing like she always does.

Because that’s what big brothers do. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly spent so much time googling about blueberries in georgia before i remembered this show has zombies and decided my rules go here. 
> 
> also i would pay so much good money to get like more than a crumb about daryl's childhood damnit.
> 
> reviews are beloved, reviews are wonderful, reviews are kind!!


	5. This Thing Between Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last prison interlude! 
> 
> plz enjoy because next up we've got them wandering in the woods!!!

**Daryl Dixon wants to know when the hell Beth Greene got in his head.**

"You got the lil asskicker tonight?" Daryl asks Carol with some surprise, when he stops in the cafeteria after eating before he heads out on watch duty. Carol is the one holding Judith, trying to get her to eat the last couple spoonfuls of mashed carrots.

"Yeah, I told Beth she needed a night off," Carol tells him, smiling as he squats and uses the corner of the bib to wipe away the drool on Judith's chin. She gives a happy babble, reaching for him, but he knows enough to keep his hair where her sticky little fingers can't yank it out. "She's only young once, you know?"

"Mhmm," he grunts, trying not to dwell too much on that. He usually tries not to think about Beth and Zach, as a rule. Tells himself it's because he doesn't like sappy shit. Doesn't allow himself the option to think anything else.

"What are you doing?" Carol asks him and it gives him an odd pang, because Beth never has to ask, Beth just knows.

"Guard duty," he forces himself to say levelly. "Just like to see her before I go, is all."

"Yeah I know, Beth told me you’d come looking." Carol gives him a smile that makes him uncomfortable. No one from Woodbury can read him, that much is true. The same cannot be said for those from the farm, or those from Atlanta. Especially Carol. "You going hunting again tomorrow?"

"Yeah." he's got a pretty good idea of where some deer have been herding up together. "Few days, probably."

"Taking anyone with you?" Carol asks and he gives a shrug. No one he really wants to take. Rick needs to stay here, to farm. And Glenn's good on runs, but he's louder than hell in a forest. Unbidden, the memory of Beth finding berries when they went to check the snares rises in his memory.

"Nah." he firmly pushes that line of thinking away, standing. "Gonna go then."

"Alright." Carol catches Judith's hand, raising it in a little wave. "Tell Uncle Daryl bye-bye."

"Bye sweetheart." he actually smiles when Judith gives a gleeful shriek, unsure if it's for him or the carrots. Then he heads out for the guard tower, taking the stairs two at a time. It should be Jon on shift today, so he calls out as he climbs, "hey, they're doing mac and cheese tonight."

"Oh sweet, really?" it's not Jon who greets him but Zach and Daryl stills at the top of the stairs, knowing in his gut what he's going to see and still dreading it anyways.

Sure enough, Beth is sitting up in the guard tower too, giving him a smile that only seems slightly strained. Daryl finds himself wanting to growl at Zach, to chide him, though he technically hasn't done anything wrong. It's not against the rules to have someone else up in the guard tower on shift with you. And they're both fully clothed, which is better than Daryl can say about the times he's caught Glenn and Maggie when he was checking in early for a shift.

"Yeah." his voice is rough as sandpaper; he averts his eyes and goes to the corner, pretending to look out critically. Like Zach's been distracted, hasn't been doing his job. But it's all quiet — just a few walkers on the fence, nothing crazy.

"What do you say?" Zach gives Beth an easy smile and she gives a little shrug, one that Daryl recognizes because he does it so often himself. She glances at Daryl then looks away. This should not be bothering him. It really shouldn't. Daryl isn't squeamish about romance; can't grow up with Merle and be unaware. Fuck, he's actually caught them kissing before and it hadn't been half as uncomfortable.

"Judith okay with Carol?" she asks Daryl softly and he sneaks a look at her. She doesn't look flushed or breathless, embarrassed like Glenn or defiant like Maggie. She's just got her hands folded in her lap, asking after the little girl she loves.

"Yeah." a beat, then he forces more words out. "Having carrots."

"Poor girl gets carrots and we get mac and cheese," Zach jokes and Beth gives him a little smile that makes Daryl want to grind his teeth. "Don't seem fair."

"She likes carrots better anyways," Beth tells him, standing and brushing off her jeans. "C'mon, we better leave Daryl be. Likes his quiet."

"See ya man." Zach disappears down the stairs first, leaving Beth with Daryl. Despite the fact that it's a warm and balmy night, he feels a slight shiver.

"Did you eat?" Beth asks him softly and he nods, looking out over the trees. He feels like if he looks back at her, something might happen. Might get struck by lightning. Might get swallowed up in a hurricane. Might just fade into the universe. "Need me to bring you anything?"

"Nah." he doesn't trust his voice to say anything else.

Beth departs with a quiet rustle of boots on the steps and Daryl is left all alone, not sure why his hands open and close without purpose, without purchase, without anything at all to hold.

* * *

**If there’s anything that will surprise Daryl Dixon in this world, he knows it’ll be Beth Greene.**

"Think we can make vodka in the toilets?" Glenn asks idly and all the heads around the table swing to look at him.

"What?" Carol demands and Glenn shrugs.

"They did that here, before. I think you just need potatoes and sugar." Glenn lays down his cards. "Checkmate, or whatever."

"Glenn, this is poker," Maggie says patiently, "and you're shit at it."

"Uno. Abracadabra. Gin. Whatever." Glenn grins and everyone is chuckling as cards get tossed and then are shuffled to be redealt.

They're playing poker because there's not shit else to do. It's raining so hard outside that they haven't even bothered to send someone to stand watch. It's impossible to see through the sheets of rain. Daryl is currently kicking ass because everyone sitting at the table sucks at keeping a straight face, especially Glenn. He remembers the way that he'd spilled the secrets about Lori's pregnancy and the walkers in the barn. Yeah, kid has no poker face.

Maggie just learned how to play not three hands ago but she's getting better. Carol is decent but she lacks the ability to play a big bluff. Zach's probably his best competition and Tyreese is too nice to try and screw anyone out of their money, or whatever trinkets they’re betting since money is pointless now. Sasha would probably be good at this, but she and Hershel are in a deep conversation about some old western movie.

Beth's the only one sitting at the table and not playing. In fact, most of her job to prevent Judith from reaching for the cards or the chips or just about anything that she can get her little toddler hands on. But Daryl'd bet his bow she's watching them and learning how to play, picking it up even without playing a hand. She's always in the background, smart girl.

"How about next run we just hit a liquor store?" Zach suggests, dealing the cards. Daryl slides his cards towards him quickly before Judith can snag them. "Think it's a hell of a lot more sanitary than toilet vodka."

"Yeah, kinda ruins the authenticity though," Glenn protests and Maggie snorts. "I feel like, let's lean into our current situation. Really make the most of it, you know? Get some good ol' prison wine. Maybe do some prison tats."

"Oh, you with prison tats?" Maggie raises an eyebrow. "That'll be the day."

"You can't talk, Maggie," Beth says smartly and Maggie's eyes slide guiltily to her sister.

"Maggie has a prison tat?" Carol raises an eyebrow curiously.

"Not a prison tattoo." Maggie scowls. "A normal tattoo that I got legally and professionally!"

"It's a horseshoe," Glenn states, inspecting his cards with a frown. "Right on her lower back."

"Oh, a tramp stamp?" Daryl takes the glare Maggie levels at him with a smirk.

"I was sixteen, I wasn't in the position to make the smartest choices. Daddy damn near tanned my hide." for all her bluster, she's smiling and shaking her head. "Bethy, remember what tattoo you said you were gonna get when you were little?"

"No," Beth groans and all the heads turn to her. Little Beth Greene, America's Sweetheart, Girl Next Door, wanted a tattoo?

"What was it?" Zach demands and Beth sighs, trying to use Judith as a distraction but the little girl is engrossed in the joker card that Carol’d given her.

"I was like ten," she says defensively. "Keep that in mind, okay?"

"So after Daddy screamed himself hoarse at me, he realized there was nothing he could do and it was gonna be on me forever. So he tells Beth that she better not ever do anything like that and she promises she won't. Then later she asks to see and a few days later, tells me she's gonna get a tattoo when she gets old enough too, no matter what Daddy said." Maggie launches into the story with relish. "So I ask her what the hell she thinks she's going to get. And you'll never believe what she said. A unicorn."

"I was ten!" Beth insists as Carol and Glenn laugh, while Zach pats her hand.

"I think you guys should look for a tattoo shop next run," Carol remarks, moving her cards around with the tiny frown she got when she had a bad hand. "Could bring back a tattoo gun, give Beth the unicorn she's been waiting on."

"Very funny. And what would y'all get?" Beth demands of them, eyes sparkling. "I'd like to see if you guys have any better ideas!" 

"I was gonna get my old football number," Zach remarks with a slightly wry smile. "Even had an appointment, before everything went crazy."

"I'd get a rose," Carol states softly and looks up at Daryl to give him a sad smile. He responds with a tiny incline of his head, knowing that both of them are thinking of Sophia.

"Did you have any others you were going to get, before the turn?" Glenn asks, looking up at Daryl. For a second he doesn't quite know why they're all giving him such imploring looks; then he realizes that apparently he's the only one at the table besides Maggie that actually has a tattoo.

"Didn't plan them out," he mutters, shuffling his cards. "Just... Got them whenever I felt like it."

"Wait, what tattoos do you have?" Zach asks curiously. Daryl glances at him and after a second, the kid seems to realize that it might be a personal question and shuts up. But then he softens, because Zach is a good person, in an annoying way.

"Got a devil, cause I wanted it," he mutters, giving his arm a little shake. "Got my grandpa's name, here." he touches over his heart. The old man had only been around for a few years in Daryl's childhood, but he'd been better to him than anyone else. 

“And a demon on your back,” Glenn says, inspecting his cards. “Right?” 

“No, he’s got two demons,” Beth corrects without looking up, busy wincing and trying to untangle her hair from Judith’s waving grasp. 

Silence reigns. Everyone is staring either at Beth or Daryl, depending on their level of comfort on staring down Daryl Dixon. Beth looks up when no one says anything, eyes going wide when she sees the confusion. Daryl feels like he might implode or explode, whatever comes first, because anyone who’s seen him with a shirt on has probably glimpsed one demon, the one that pokes out of his cutoff sleeves. But the second one, lower, can only be seen when his shirt is off. 

So now they all know Beth has seen him with his shirt off. And the next logical question would be _why._

“Two, huh?” Carol is kind enough to salvage the conversation or at least try to, and keep the embarrassment to both Beth and Daryl to a minimum.

"Badass," Zach says slowly, while Beth seems to be avoiding Daryl’s eyes, cheeks pink. Carol just looks contemplatively at her cards and Tyreese does the same, the conversation apparently not holding any interest for him. Slowly, the conversation moves on and he finds himself glancing at her. Because she knows what else is on his back, what the demons must represent. But to her credit, she says nothing to him and instead to declares to the group,

"You guys should bring back a tattoo gun. I'd get one. Really. And not a unicorn."

"Yeah?" Maggie's smile returns and Daryl relaxes marginally, now that the attention is off him. "What then?"

"Mhmm, maybe ‘little asskicker’ for Judith,” Beth jokes, bouncing the little girl on her knee before turning serious. “Or a horseshoe to match yours. Or some angel wings. You know, for mama and Shawn."

Daryl's heart is damn near in his throat. She didn't mean it like that, of course. Not meant for him. Never meant for him. Meant for her family, for those people that she's loved and lost. Has nothing to do with him, with the vest that he wears.

Feels like it thought, when Maggie's eyes dart to his and he feels like sinking through the floor. Until —

"Yahtzee!" Glenn throws down his cards again and they all groan, yelling at him that it's not how you play poker, and Daryl waits until his chest has loosened some before he can even sneak glances at Beth again out of the corner of his eyes.

* * *

**Beth Greene seems to know Daryl Dixon better and better.**

Christ. Fucking _christ_ he needs some goddamn quiet.

The thing is, there’s no quiet, not anymore. The walkers are always at the fence, snarling at them. And the people inside are just as bad. Not just the kids now. The adults too, call out for him. Greet him, ask him about his latest hunting trip or scavenging run. Bring him things that need fixing, like they think that he’s good with his hands, like he can mend things. Trying to talk to him. Ask him questions, draw him into conversations, stopping to chat about stuff the council brought up.

He’s trying to get used to it. He’s trying to be a part of it. And every day, he tunes out a little bit more of that voice in his head, the one that sounds like Merle or his daddy depending on the moment, that tells him he’s an unlovable redneck fuckup. He knows he’s not. Gets told constantly by Rick, Carol, Hershel, Beth, Glenn, Maggie, Carl, Michonne. All the rest.

Hell, the other day Zach had guessed that he’d been a bomb squad guy, claiming that he was the sort of idiot who’d charge head first into danger to protect others. He’s not wrong, per say, but still.

That doesn’t mean it’s always easy to stomach all of this. And he just wants some goddamn quiet tonight, after one of the Woodbury women — Katie — had made a pass at him. It’d been a joke, mostly, but it had been enough to send Daryl running like a spooked horse because… Well, just because. Because sometimes a man gets sick of too many eyes on him. That’s all. Just needs some peace and quiet where no one will see him.

He’s so desperate in his search for solitude that he almost trips over the legs that extend from a nook in the library.

Almost, because even now he still remembers what it's like to live in the forest, still hones those instincts.

“Jesus — Daryl?”

Well, shit. Isn’t this just the cherry on the top of his day? Beth Greene leans over and looks up at him, the low light making her eyes look darker than usual. He’d gone seeking solace and instead stumbled upon the one person who, annoyingly, always seems to look right through him. He feels his face getting warm for reasons unknown and mumbles, halfheartedly, “hey.”

“Whatcha doing?” Beth shuts the book she’d been reading on her lap, looking up at him.

“Just…” he looks wildly about the library. He can’t say that he’s here to read, because that’s a lie. Merle’d been the one to like books back when they were kids. Denied it till the sun went down, but more than once, Daryl had caught him tucking chapter books under his mattress. (Funny how the porn magazines always got left out though.)

“Oh.” for some reason Beth starts to rise. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Get what?” he asks her in bewilderment because he sure as hell doesn’t get anything, least of all her. Beth pauses, giving him a funny look and a smile.

“You want peace and quiet.”

“Oh.” yeah, he does want that. That had been the point in coming here. How does she know that? But before he can puzzle that out, he clears his throat awkwardly and tells her, “you don’t gotta go though. I mean… You were here. First.”

“Aw.” she looks so pleasantly surprised at the fact that he doesn’t want to be utterly alone. Makes him feel like shit. “Thanks. Rick’s got Judith tonight and I don’t really wanna be around all the others, you know?”

“No.” he doesn’t know, because Beth always seems so fine around other people, but then he stops and realizes what a jackass he must sound like. Because he never wants to be around people. Beth tilts her head, confusion making her eyes narrow slightly so he mumbles, “why?”

“Ahh…” Beth hedges for a second like she’s trying to figure out what he’s asking and he about turns and walks out of this fucking place. “Why don’t I want to be around people?” she asks and then when he nods, brightens. “Oh. Well, just cause I get talked to all day, you know? I get up and the kids are always asking for things and then we’re trying to do what could count as school and they’re always asking me questions and stuff that I don’t know the answers to sometimes. And I love them, I do, but it gets to be a little bit much now and then. And I just need a bit of peace and quiet too I guess.”

“Can stay,” he tells her, like this is his library and he’s capable of kicking her out. But Beth doesn’t take it that way; she just looks a little bit surprised and rather delighted.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do then?” she asks him curiously and he pulls out his knife and the sharpener. Her lips twitch like she’s attempting not to smile. “Should’ve known.”

“Do yours,” he offers and Beth makes a little face, unclipping hers from her belt and offering it to him.

“I think if you sharpen it anymore, it’s gonna snap in two,” she tells him and he inspects it. Must be an old thing, if it’s so thin. She’s right — one good hit to a walker and the thing is liable to snap at the handle. Then she doesn’t pester him anymore, simply opening her book and sticking her nose right back into it.

Daryl appreciates the shit out of her sometimes.

He falls into a routine, cleaning the knives before sliding them against the sharpener. He’d grabbed his whole collection, so he’s got more than a few to do. Across from him, Beth just keeps reading, the only sound she makes being the quiet rasp of the pages turning and a little huff or sigh every now and then. It almost makes him smile. He wonders what she’s reading, if it’s some tawdry thing like Merle was so fond of, or the comics that Carl and Michonne damn near hoard.

“What?” he asks her, a bit roughly, when she gives a particular little hum. It’s a happy noise, like a damn cat being petted, but Beth must not even be aware she’s making it, since she looks up at him with some alarm.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Daryl.” she flushes red. “I wasn’t tryna make noise, I promise.”

“You’re fine,” he grumbles, mostly mad that she doesn’t trust that she won’t piss him off by breathing. Christ, he’s not that much of a cranky bastard, is he? “What is it?”

“It’s… Have you ever read Pride and Prejudice?” she asks him carefully and he stares at her blankly.

Of course he hasn’t. He barely made it through middle school. High school was a failure. No. He’s never read fucking Pride and Prejudice. “What do you think?”

“I — okay.” Beth recovers with grace, like she always does, unbothered by his coarseness. “I was telling the kids about it, a long time ago. Found a copy in here finally. It’s an old book, about two people falling in love.”

“Course,” he scoffs. Romance novel. Should’ve known.

“Not like that.” Beth rolls her eyes. “It’s a classic. It’s about a girl who comes from a kinda bad family and how this really rich guy falls in love with her. But he doesn’t want to love her because she’s from a bad family. And she thinks he’s a real asshole. But… They figure it out together, in the end.”

You know, who even needs air? Certainly not Daryl Dixon.

“So they finally do it or what?” he grunts, as crude as he can to remind himself that he’s not the kind of guy that reads romance novels with girls like Beth Greene.

“Daryl Dixon!” her boot covered toe aims a kick at his shin that is more of a graze but still earns her a glare. “I told you, it ain’t like that! They don’t do that. They just… Tell each other how much they love each other. And how wrong they were about each other. And that they let their pride and prejudice get in the way of their love, but then they’re together. And they live happily ever after, and so do Jane and Bingley.”

“The fuck names their kid Bingley?” that’s his only takeaway. He’s heard a lot of stupid redneck trailer trash names in his lifetime — hell, his name rhymes with his brother’s — but never a Bingley.

“That’s his last name.” Beth rolls her eyes. “It’s set in regency England. That’s why there is no dirty stuff. People back then didn’t even like touching before marriage.”

_Sounds like the perfect place for you, baby brother,_ a voice like Merle crows in the back of his head but Daryl dismisses that with a little shake. “Why you reading it then?”

“Dar- _yl.”_ another toe poke. “Cause it’s a classic. Cause it’s good. It’s a love story.”

“Mhmm.” he goes back to focusing on his knives. Feels safer to be holding sharp steel in his hands than trying to keep up with Beth and her actual romance novels.

“Can loan it to you,” she offers and he blows out a hot huff of air at that.

“Read it to lil asskicker,” he orders her instead.

“Yeah, I’ll bring her up to your tower and read it to you both whenever she can’t sleep,” she jokes and he gives a little noise of what might be annoyance but might not be, too. He might not mind that. “Think it’s a little bit beyond her comprehension, honestly, but you never know.”

“Beyond mine,” he mutters and Beth laughs, such a happy noise.

“I can give you a summary,” she informs him and he thinks about her, never making fun of him, always happy to use ten words so he only has to use three.

They lapse back into silence again, the two of them each intent on their own things. Beth is finishing reading, he’s sharpening the last of the knives. The sun is fully set now, the library in full darkness. Makes him think of the night she’d insisted on having a wedding dance for Maggie and Glenn, how she'd gotten up and sang for everyone, sang Led Zeppelin for him, because he'd told her that it was his favorite from before.

It’s a topic he’s been firmly putting from his mind. Doesn’t like thinking about it because it causes something funny in his chest. The happiness of seeing her up there, singing that song. And it felt like it’d been just for him, just the two of them under the night sky. But it hadn’t been, and he hadn’t been brave enough to dance with her, told her to go off with her perfect boyfriend and their damn romance novel but now they’re here. Alone in the library. And he’s not sure how he feels about things.

“Beth,” he says softly, in a tone he doesn’t recognize coming from his mouth. “You… You learn any other of the songs?”

“Sure did.” Beth smiles but doesn’t look up at him. Makes it a lot easier. “Finally learned Stairway to Heaven.”

“Hmm.” he doesn’t ask her to sing it. Not sure his strangling nerves can handle that. But maybe he will, later. Maybe when she comes in the middle of the night with Judith and he’ll tell her it’s to soothe the baby but it won’t be, because Judith likes Itsy Bitsy Spider as much as Girl from the North Country. And she’ll smile and narrow her eyes at him like she’s seeing right through him but she’ll do it and he’ll listen.

She closes the end of the book at the same time he finishes sharpening the last knife. He stands and hands her the weak knife again, frowning slightly.

Yeah, he’s getting her a new one soon.

And then he’s gonna ask her to sing for him, even if it kills him.

* * *

  
**Daryl Dixon knows what kind of person Beth Greene makes him.**

"Daryl! _Daryl!"_

When Beth Greene starts yelling at him like that, he's got visions of the world opening up, lava and smoke and sulfur, of death and destruction coming for them all and he starts running, he starts running towards the gate like his very life depends on it, to where he can see that bobbing blonde ponytail swinging in the breeze in the inner yard.

He damn near forgets his sack of kills from his hunt when she starts yelling like that.

"It's okay!" Carl's shout rings out, when it becomes apparent that they've startled him but he doesn't slow up his pace, not even a little bit, because he feels like even if something hasn't happened, it will if he doesn't reach them in time.

Beth and Carl are standing in the field near Rick and Hershel, Judith in her customary spot on Beth's hip. Daryl reaches them, hand going for his knife before he notices the smile on Rick's face, how Hershel is nodding at him. Carl looks delighted and Beth...

Well, Beth has a lot of radiant smiles. This one just feels brighter is all.

"Judith has something she'd like to tell you," Rick informs him while Daryl catches his breath and wonders if he shouldn't flip them all off and leave. But then Beth turns her head so that her nose is against Judith's temple and her mouth near Judith's little ear and she whispers to her,

"What do you wanna say to Uncle Daryl, huh? Can you tell him what you were telling me? Can you say it for your Uncle Daryl?"

Judith gives him happy, gummy smile. And then says, plain as day, "hi!"

Daryl drops the sack that his kills had been in. Drops it right in the dirt and the dust, uncaring. He just stares in astonishment at Judith. She's been babbling plenty lately. Always has something to say, noises to make. But this is a word. This is a clear cut word, used in the right context. And so he gives something between a laugh and sob and replies to her, "hi there lil asskicker."

"Daryl!" Beth aims a swat at his hands. "Quit that now! She's gonna pick up words real fast and then you'll be sorry." but she's beaming at him and then hands him Judith when she reaches out for him.

"Hi," he tells Judith, raising her above his head and grinning widely at her, babbling like a kid now. "Hi, hi, hi, baby girl."

"Hi!" Judith says, delighted with her new talent. And they all clap and laugh and look at Judith as though she's the marvel of their world and isn't she? Isn't she?

Daryl decides he’s going to spend the rest of the afternoon with Judith, out of the prison. And not because Beth is the one holding her. No. Because he misses the little girl, been out hunting for two days, and he’s pretty damn tired. So he decides to help Rick out in the fields, while Judith and Beth and Carl play in the grass, Judith occasionally yelling ‘hi!’ to them. Each time, Hershel, Rick, and even Daryl stop to reply right back, making everyone laugh.

Happiness feels good. Daryl hasn’t felt this in a long time.

“She’ll start picking up words really quick now,” Beth is telling Carl, as Daryl lounges on the blanket with Beth, Judith, and Carl. Rick and Hershel are wrapping up the last of the work with the crops. “She’ll be talking a lot more, so we gotta be real careful with what we say.”

_“Pffffffft.”_ Daryl doesn’t know why she’s leveling him with such a look.

“Gagagaga.” Judith is still working on her other words, clapping her chubby little hands together and looking at them. “Ah-la-vuh?”

“Yes,” Beth says seriously, handing her a toy. “This what you want, huh, sweet pea?”

“Mama!” Judith says, clear as a bell, and they all freeze.

Rick drops a shovel and it’s like it’s a cue for Beth to bolt. She gets right up and starts walking away. Carl holds Judith, wide-eyed and looking at his dad with surprise. Rick starts to move towards Beth but Hershel stops him, shaking his head. Daryl catches the old man’s gaze and sees the expectation there. He has a brief moment of panic when he thinks, _me?_ but Hershel just nods him on.

Then he gets up off his ass and goes after Beth, where she’s standing amongst the string-beans and corn, looking a bit lost. He approaches her like he might a trapped animal, hands raised and stance crouched, trying to make himself smaller, less threatening. “Beth?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she says quickly. Too quickly. Daryl stops a ways off, not getting any closer. He’s not surprised to see Beth is struggling to not cry.

“Don’t gotta be.” what girl would be? Not even old enough to drink yet and she has a baby calling her mama — a baby that isn’t her own, that had come into one fucked up world but still had someone who loves her. Rocks her to sleep, sings to her, makes bottles and changes diapers and just loves her. Hell, sometimes he looks at Judith and isn’t sure what she is — half his kid, half his niece, half something else entirely that he’s never going to understand, and he gets confused too.

“It’s just…” Beth takes a deep breath, trying to pull herself back together. Daryl wishes she wouldn’t. God only knows how many times he’s fallen apart on her. Might be nice for a change, to help her instead of dumping everything on the shoulders of this girl. They all do. Rick with his kids and Daryl with his fucked up emotional bullshit, Maggie with her expectations, all the kids needing her. “It’s just, I knew it was coming. I mean, I told myself it was gonna happen. I just didn’t think she’d learn two words so quickly.”

“Smart kid,” he mutters and Beth sighs.

“Yeah. I just wish Lori was here. Wish it wasn’t me. Wish it was all different. Wish I wasn’t happy about it too, you know? Sometimes I look at her and think of how beautiful she is. Smart. Happy. And I think that I ain’t never gonna have kids, not in this, so I’m happy I get her, you know? And then I miss Lori. And I wish she had a real mama. Because I’m a poor substitute for one.” Beth gives a dry little sob, bowing her head.

“No, you ain’t.” the words come out of his mouth louder and stronger than anything before. It’s a miracle; he usually only hits this decibel when he’s drunk or angry or a combination. He wants to reach out for her, but he stops himself. “You’re good, Beth. You’re the best thing she could’ve asked for. She loves you. That’s what that is, it’s just… Her love.”

“Yeah?” Beth smiles at that and he doesn’t really know what he’s done, only that she’s not crying anymore and he’s taking that as a win. “You’re right. She’s too little to make distinctions. She’ll get older and we’ll tell her about Lori and she can call me whatever she wants.”

“Yeah,” he says with some relief and Beth gets a wobbly smile on her face, coming to squeeze his hand. He thinks about her words, about how Judith is the only baby she’ll have and he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what, and then she’s gone back to the blanket, nodding to Carl’s question if she’s still okay and blowing kisses on Judith’s cheek.

“I’m okay,” she says happily, and when Daryl follows her back over, she asks, “can you say Carl? Ca-rl? How about Daryl? Dar-yl?”

“Dar, dar, dar!” Judith gurgles and Beth’s laughing again and yeah, this is happiness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if fic writing is like parenting where you're not supposed to have favorites but the tattoo scene was my fav here (and the markers/bike scene is my fav from nrtbab) 
> 
> try telling me my wild child maggie greene does not have a tattoo
> 
> i truly mean it when i say i cherish each review like a precious gem


	6. When We're Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen folks. am i terrified of what's the come in season 10C? sure am. am i trying to ward off that terror by rewatching season 4 for the billionth time? SURE AM. 
> 
> join me in my comfort season.

**Daryl Dixon doesn't know how Beth Greene doesn't cry anymore.**

Silence reigns. It always does, after a death. Words are insufficient. Words are never enough. Sasha's the one who breaks it, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

"He have any family?"

"No." Glenn's voice doesn't shake. "Mom died when he was a kid, dad died in the first wave of infections. Had a cousin, lost him too. So... Just Beth."

_Beth._

Fuck. Daryl wants to throw himself back into that goddamn store, do something or anything at all for a kid who's long gone. Because hasn't that girl lost enough? And she trusts Daryl to keep their people safe and he couldn't, he'd lost Zach, couldn't keep it together to get him back safely.

"Okay." Sasha passes a hand over her face wearily. "Okay, let's get back then."

"I'll tell her," Glenn says heavily and Daryl makes a noise, shaking his head. Glenn, Michonne, Sasha, Bob, and Tyreese all turn to look at him. He just gives a little shrug, unsure of how to explain why it needs to be him. Just that it should. It does.

He gets on his bike and starts it with a rumble. He doesn't want to go back. He doesn't want to face any of this, doesn't want to face Beth or reality or anything at all. He doesn't want to keep losing people, but that seems to be the only thing that there is to do. The only thing that stays constant for them anymore is death and loss.

He's in a pretty shitty mood when they get back to the prison. Parking his bike by the black Charger, Zach's pride and joy, only serves to deepen it. He wants a shower and some quiet but he has to go see Beth first. The others will tell everyone else and he doesn't want Beth finding out via the gossip line that is the prison.

Carol greets them, anticipating a haul and instead being met with defeated, devastated faces. She slowly counts their heads, worried, then notices who is missing amongst their number. She turns to Daryl, eyes wide, but he shakes his head. He doesn't have the energy to tell it twice, and Beth needs to be first. He trusts Glenn and the others to fill her in while he carries on towards the cell blocks, glad that Sasha is slowing to intercept Rick.

He stops before Beth's cell, at the soft light coming from it. She must not have Judith; if she did, they would be in the middle of the bedtime song and dance routine. He wonders if that's a good thing or bad. She could probably use the comfort, the distraction. He wants to turn on his heel and run away, disappear into the wilderness, never see any of these people again, never feel responsible for any of them ever again but...

This is Beth. And she's been there for him when he's lost people, so she deserves the same. Steeling himself, he steps up to the cell door and looks inside, to see her lying on her stomach on her bed, head bent over her journal, scribbling in it. She looks so peaceful and he's about to ruin it and he hates himself.

"Hey." she looks up when he takes a deep breath and those blue eyes in the soft light make him feel like he's going to burn up.

"Hi," he rasps back and Beth's face doesn't change but it's like he can see something drop behind her eyes, like she's freezing herself in place.

"What is it?" she asks, in a tone that's too casual. Like she knows what's coming. He takes a deep breath and looks away.

"Zach." just saying his name hurts Daryl's chest. But Beth doesn't burst into tears. Hell, she hardly flinches.

"Is he dead?" she asks, voice only a bit too flat. Daryl wishes he could disappear but he forces himself to stay put, forces himself to nod. It's his fault. He'll take the blame, lay it square on his shoulders, waiting for her to rage against him, to tell him that she blames him, she hates him. Instead, just a tiny huff, barely a sigh. "Okay."

Then she shuts her journal, slides to the edge of the bed, and sighs. Not even a heavy sigh, just a slightly harsher exhale of air. She looks rather blankly at the wall, the light sliding off her smooth, porcelain skin. When she rises, Daryl braces himself for something. Anything would be better than this cool detachment. But she only goes for that stupid sign she'd found with Carl when they were cleaning out the prison, the one that talks about how long they've gone without an accident. She reaches up and removes the '3' and the counter is set back to 0.

He hates this. He hates this so much. He wants her to break down. He wants her to feel. He wants her to blame him, to make him feel like shit. It's what he deserves. It's what she should do. Fuck, he wishes she would lay into him, tell him that he ruined her only chance for happiness. He wishes she would react at all, show him any sort of the Beth he's come to know so well. Because if she's not feeling, that means she's slipping away, the immobile girl who wants out of this world, just like she had before on the farm.

"What?" she seems to be aware that he's still watching her, but he doesn't have any words for her. He can't tell her how to grieve, he just wants to tell her that she can. She should. He shrugs, sure that if he opens his mouth, the words will come out wrong. For some reason, that makes her set her teeth, give a little defiant jut of her chin as she informs him, "I don't cry anymore, Daryl. I'm just glad I got to know him, you know?"

"Me too." he watches her take a few steps towards him, before actual concern replaces the cold detached look she has been wearing. She looks him up and down, eyebrows knitting together in worry.

"Are you okay?" she asks him carefully and he feels like someone has poured cooled metal into his veins. It'd be a hell of a lot less painful than facing the fact that Beth has lost her boyfriend, someone she loved, and yet she's standing here in front of him, asking if he's alright, because she's near a goddamn saint.

And he's not alright. Can still see the blood gushing over Zach's face, hear his screams, can't stop thinking if he'd just been faster, stronger, smarter, better that this would all have a different outcome. It'd be Zach in this cell right now, the two of them laughing and kissing, making Daryl mutter about romance novels.

This life isn't a romance novel. It's not a fairy tale. And they won't get happy endings, any of them.

"Just tired of losing people is all," he says and that's the truth.

He doesn't have time to react when Beth goes in for a hug. Doesn't have time to stop it, because she's Beth Greene and she knows him too well. Knows that if she's going to comfort him, she'll have to be quick about it; catch him by surprise, when his defenses are down. She's hugging him, comforting him, and he can't even do this one small thing right; somehow got it twisted where he's taking from her again without ever once giving back.

Thin arms that hide surprising strength go around his waist and her head nuzzles right onto his chest, her blonde ponytail tickling his nose. He freezes up, trying to remember what to do with this, unsure if he should hug her back or gently detach himself and run far, far away. He probably smells like sweat and dirt and death and _he_ was meant to comfort _her,_ not the other way around.

But maybe this is what she needs. So slowly, carefully, in case he really is as big a jackass as he thinks he is, he brings a hand up and gently places it on her elbow, slipping through the loose fabric of her sweater and feeling the warm skin there. She is warm, so warm, so alive, and his breathing hitches at that. She's just... Beth.

"I'm glad I didn't say good-bye. I hate good-byes," she mutters, more to his armpit than him and he feels his whole heart seize up. Her weight against him, the smell of her, everything about her makes him feel like... He doesn't know.

"Me too," he mumbles and then Beth pulls back. He wants to avoid her eyes; he's not sure what expression he has on his face, but it's making his heart skip a few beats. Yet when she releases him, he seeks her out, always needing more from her. And she's just standing there, her dry blue eyes steady on his, backlit by those Christmas lights he'd found for her.

And fuck, she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. So Daryl does what he does best.

And gets the fuck away from her.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**All Daryl Dixon knows is that the world is better with Beth Greene.**

He takes the stairs to the library three at a time. Adrenaline is pumping through him, and it makes no difference that he hasn't slept in what feels like a damn week. He could run a marathon, he could lift a truck. They got the meds. They're not going to lose anyone else.

Hershel had told him he could go get the kids out of their isolation, bring them back.

Daryl's got a powerful need to have something good in his life right about now.

"Beth!" he hits the door a little harder than he should, nerves still fizzing. He knows he should moderate his tone, that she's going to panic and it's warranted with everything going on, but he can’t. He seems a hazy shape on the other side growing by the second.

"Daryl?" fear laces through her voice.

"Got the meds." he feels giddy with the lack of sleep and happiness to be back. "They're fine. Glenn, Maggie, your dad. All fine."

"Oh my god." he hears Beth slump against the door; her legs must've given out. "Oh my... Thank you, Daryl."

"Can come out," he tells her, remembering the whole point in him coming up here like a bat out of hell. "The kids, it's safe."

For a second, silence. Then a strangled voice asks, quietly, "really?"

"Yeah. And could you... Bring Judith?" Daryl just needs to see the little girl, needs to be reassured that she's alright. There's a little chuckle from the other side of the door and then the lock clicks and Beth pulls open the door, looking up at him with a breathless smile on her pretty face.

"Tell her yourself."

Daryl's never been much of a hugger. Never been much of a toucher, given that for so long in his life any physical interaction had been of a brutal nature. But he remembers Beth's arms around him that night in her cell after Zach and he has an odd sort of feeling that if she'd do it again, he might calm down a bit.

He reaches for her. Catches an elbow. Squeezes, then chickens out. Yeah, Judith. Let's say he's here for her. So he lets Beth lead him back to where the kids are laying down, though no one seems to be sleeping anymore. They all look up at him with big eyes. Mika is holding Judith, looking nervous.

"Hey." he kneels in front of her and gently takes Judith from her.

"Daryl got the medicine," Beth tells them all and he is uncomfortable with the awed eyes that swing his way. "We're okay. We can leave the library now."

"Are people going to get better?" one boy asks and Daryl stands, turning away with Judith. The little girl is dozing against his shoulder now and he feels his heart rate start to return to normal. He's kept her safe. He's kept them all safe. And he knows he's too late for some people. Hershel's eyes have that haunted look and he'll ask soon about what bodies they're burying.

But right now, everything is okay.

"They're going to get better," Beth confirms, touching the boy's head. "Why don't you grab all your stuff and we can go back to our rooms, huh? Everyone start getting your stuff together."

"Okay." the kids start to busy themselves and Beth straightens up, smiling at him. He gives Judith a little heft in his arms; she's getting bigger and bigger these days.

"Everything go okay?" she asks him lowly and Daryl knows what she's asking. Who did they lose?

"Fine," he answers with a nod and Beth relaxes some. Her hand comes up, rubbing Judith's back and she's close to him, closer than she usually is, and he holds his breath without realizing that he is.

"You okay?" she asks him softly and for a moment, just the quickest flash of a moment, it occurs to him. Him, Beth, Judith. _A family._

No. He's fucking not okay.

"Fine." it's a damn miracle his voice isn't more strangled. "Fine. Glad you're alright."

"You too." she leans her head on his arm, just for a moment, just to smile at Judith and yeah. He's never been more and less okay.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Daryl Dixon doesn't know if he's keeping Beth Greene alive, or if it's the other way around.**

"Whoo! Holy _shit!_ Did you just put a fucking _grenade_ down a fucking _tank?"_

Merle is having the time of his life.

And by Merle, Daryl means the figment of his imagination that is his brother and manifests himself as part of Daryl's survival instincts. Because whenever Daryl has been in trouble, whenever he finds himself in a life threatening situation, his self preservation takes on the voice of his brother, trying to keep him alive. It's just not fucking helpful right now.

"Ain't no going back now!" Merle crows, as Daryl shoots the man from the tank in the chest, unflinching. "Yeah, little brother, your shit is well and truly _fucked._ Better get ready to run!"

Daryl doesn't want to run. Daryl just wants his home, put back together, everything the way that it was. Not perfect but safe. Where he could rest his head at night and sleep, without thinking that someone was going to break in. Well, not anyone besides Beth.

Speaking of...

"Ho _-ly_ shit! If it ain't the pink bubblegum, apple of her daddy's eye, the farmer's daughter!" Merle looks entirely too thrilled to see Beth running towards him. "You see her, baby brother? You know you do. You know you're damn well happy to see she's still alive, ain't ya? Gonna try to save her, won't you? You always been the soft type!"

"I was trying to find the kids to get them on the bus." she's holding the gun he'd given her. Her eyes are wide, glassy. He doesn't see Judith on her, doesn't see any of the kids. And he knows, he knows the truth even with Merle's voice whispering in his ear. It's the only thing that's keeping alive and upright, because Merle won't let him die.

"Ain't nobody left alive for you, Darylina. Nobody but her. No one at all. So you better fucking run."

"We gotta go, Beth." it breaks his goddamn heart to say it. "We gotta go."

And so they do. Right out the prison, the opposite way of the trucks and the tanks. And the whole time, Merle won't shut the fuck up.

"Well, lookie there. Everyone got on that bus and left. Left your ass right in the dirt. Who you think you are boy, thinking that they held any sorta love for you? Still just some backwoods redneck asshole."

"Better not even think about taking my bike. That shit'd get you caught in a minute! And here come those walkers, dumbass! Gonna fucking keep little Ms. Georgia safe over here? Better get your fucking gun up!"

"Yeah, the woods. Better get in them fucking woods. Get some good cover. Yeah, like that. Don't you let your fucking guard down. Not now. Not now!"

"Her ammo is out, you useless son of a bitch! You gonna cover her? You gonna let go of the only thing in this life that is even sorta good? You gonna be a man, you gonna be worth something? Then you fucking protect her! You don't let a goddamn thing touch her. Go. Go! _Go!"_

They run. They run so fast and so far that Daryl wants to puke with it all. And when they burst into the tall grass, he can't help but keep looking over his shoulder. Keep Beth in front of him. Keep her safe. Look back at the threats, see what else is coming. See what else there is, because the universe is raining a shitstorm down on him.

They both collapse down on the ground, exhaustion and fear hitting them hard. Daryl feels like his chest has been scooped out, left empty. Gone. Just like Hershel, Michonne, Rick, Carl, Judith, Maggie, Glenn, every single person at that prison.

Gone.

"Yeah." Merle's leering face swims into view above him, smiling down at him without a lick of amusement. He can hear Beth panting next to him and all he knows is that she's alive and so is he but everyone else is gone. "Yeah, you get some rest, Darylina. Because hoo boy. You're gonna fucking need it."

Daryl closes his eyes and tries not to think of anything anymore.  
  


* * *

  
  


**If they ever find anyone they love again, Daryl Dixon knows he'll have to explain this new Beth Greene.**

Somehow, somewhere, some...when, his whole world has narrowed down to the girl in front of him. Silky blonde hair, now a knotted and tangled mess of curls and braid. Her fair skin, shoulders bare in the tank tops she has layered on. Her mother's necklace, the one he fixed, bouncing on her chest. And her jeans, tucked into the boots he's never seen her without. That’s all he has now. 

He feels like he's spent a lot of time looking at Beth Greene but never really seeing her. Never saw how tough she is, how strong she can be. He remembers pulling up to her daddy's big house and the way she'd been standing on the porch. He'd thought then that she'd never make it in this new world, yet here she is.

Somehow she's his world now, cause everyone else is gone.

Might not be a bad thing, given that if he returns Beth to Maggie or Rick or Hershel or anyone like this, they'd probably have his ass, because she's not that shining beacon of innocence she'd been on the farm, or even the sweet tempered caregiver she'd been at the prison. Nope, this Beth is damn near feral, just like him. He's starting to rub off on her and that's an alarming thought indeed.

_Suck-ass camp_ still rings in his ears. And her middle finger up, right in his face, defiant and unflinching.

He can about imagine the reactions he'd get if Beth used her newfound vocabulary around members of their family.

_"You teach her that, Daryl?" Maggie would demand, hands on her hips. Glenn would be nearby, laughing but not wanting to show Maggie that he's laughing for fear of her turning her scolding onto him._

_"Course he did," Rick would reply for Daryl, with an easy laugh, hand on his gun in his belt but relaxed. "Who else got a mouth like that?"_

_"Corrupting her," Carol would tease, the only person that could do so and not send him into a spiral of hatred and doubt._

And then Beth had gone on and on about wanting a damn drink. Never had one, of course, because her daddy was Hershel Greene and he'd never had a drop of alcohol, never raised a hand against his children, had a perfect farm and a perfect life and an angel for a daughter.

Yet two, three days in the woods with a Dixon and suddenly she's chasing down alcohol like she'll die if she doesn't get it. Yeah, Daryl does corrupt everything he touches; his dirty redneck hands have broken the goodness in Beth, replaced it with anger and hatred and fear. He's not any different than his daddy. He just got to lie to himself for a while.

He wishes she could be who she was. Don't blame her for losing faith — ain't like he ever had it — but wishes she could. He always counted on her to have a smile and a softness about her. He couldn't. Hadn't for a long time and there was no getting it back, not now. But he could pretend, for a minute, whenever she looked up at him with a laugh and chided him for his language around Judith or the other kids.

Can't chide him now; her mouth is as bad as his. And it's all his damn fault.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Well, if anyone is going to know all of Daryl Dixon, it might as well be Beth Greene.**

_"Ain't gonna have your first drink be no damn peach schnapps!"_

And that's where he fucked up. Daryl can pinpoint the exact moment that he made things go from bad to worse. Because why the hell couldn't he leave it alone? Leave her crying there at the bar, crying cause she lost her whole damn family and was stuck with him, stuck with Daryl Dixon.

He doesn't have shit to offer her.

But he's knows exactly how to get fucking drunk.

Beth doesn't say anything when he leads her away from the golf course. Just follows him right back into the woods. This should've been his plan from the start, getting her to shelter, some place with walls and a roof that isn't a damn trunk, squeezed up against him. But he avoids places like this; they make him skittish.

But it's not like Beth doesn't know basically everything about him anyways.

"A motorcycle mechanic." finally, she makes some noise, trudging along behind him.

"Huh?" he glances back at her in confusion, wondering if the sun is already cooking her head.

"That's my guess. For what you were doing before the turn," she explains and he huffs a little breath out. Her voice hitches a little. "Did Zach ever guess that one?"

He wants to run. He wants to turn on his heel and run right the fuck away. Because he hates her bringing up Zach, hates her reminding him of the prison and happiness. Hates that she thinks that he could have been a mechanic, that he was capable of holding down such a normal job.

Like he's some kind of normal, blue collared kind of man, one with greasy hands and dirty jeans, but a good guy, the kind who might have a pretty little girlfriend with golden blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. Been worthy of a girl who’d bring him lunches, kiss his grimy cheek without a care. A fantasy world. Beth will know his truth soon enough and it will make her see the real him. He doesn't look back at her when he answers. "It don't matter. Hasn't mattered for a long time."

"It's just what people talk about, you know, to feel normal," she tells him, a bit of the chiding tone he remembers so well.

"Yeah, well, that never felt normal to me," he mutters, then leads Beth into the clearing. He hears her stop behind him, her confusion palpable, so he gives her an explanation. "Found this place with Michonne."

It ain't much. When he'd stumbled across it with Michonne, he'd known exactly what it was. She'd suggested they clear it, in case the Governor was in there. Once they'd established he wasn't, Michonne had wondered if there might be anything of value. Daryl had laughed, told her that unless you counted moonshine and cigarette butts as value, weren't nothing in there worth bringing home.

"I was expecting a liquor store," Beth admits, a bit puzzled and he damn near smiles.

"Nah, this is better." then he goes for the shack in the back, right where he knows the still will be. William Dixon didn't teach him much but he taught him this. And when he wrenches the door open, he hits gold, in the form of glass jars filled with clear liquid.

"What's that?" Beth looks real hesitant for the girl who'd been bold as brass this morning at his suck-ass camp about getting some booze in her.

"Moonshine." he thrusts the case of jars at her, looking around for any lingering walkers before gesturing to the trailer. "Come on." entering it is like entering a different time. Might be the end of the world, but this has always been his home. He finds a semi-clean glass, blows in it to clear the dust, and then pours her what would be a few shots worth of alcohol, feeling a little bit proud of himself. "All right. That's a real first drink right there. What's the matter?"

Beth isn't moving, isn't taking the drink. Fuck, she'd been so demanding before. Killing walkers on her own, because she wanted a damn drink so bad. But now that he's made that happen for her, suddenly she's apprehensive? Her blue eyes flicker to his, quick as anything. "Nothing. It's just... my dad always said bad moonshine can make you go blind," she tells him and he scoffs. Of course Hershel did.

"Ain't nothing worth seeing out there anymore anyway," he mutters darkly. Beth looks like she wants to argue the point but instead takes a sip of the thing and then pulls a face that's almost adorable in her dislike.

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted." and part of him wants to say _no shit, I could've told you that, ain't nothing good in this life, in this place,_ but he keeps his mouth shut as she drinks again and remarks, "second round's better."

"Slow down," he warns her, when she goes to pour a second glass. She looks up at him with a smile.

"This one's for you," she informs him and he shakes his head. He's already on edge, from her, from this place, from walkers and the world. He doesn't need any damn moonshine. Never been his vice of choice anyways.

"Nah, I'm good." 

"Why?" Beth looks almost disappointed, like she's sad they're not going to be drinking buddies.

"Someone's got to keep watch," he reminds her pointedly and Beth looks like she might roll her eyes before she juts her chin out.

"So, what, you're like my chaperone now?" she tries to goad him. But she's done this before, this little trick. So he just scoffs at her.

"Just drink lots of water."

"Yes, Mr. Dixon." she mutters and he almost smirks. Almost. Then he goes to make the place secure, because they might as well stay here for a second, get their bearings back and all. Beth stops drinking — thank fuck, she's a hundred pounds soaking wet with zero tolerance for the stuff, she'll be puking or passing out before he figures out how to stop her — and starts rummaging around. He's about to tell her what he told Michonne when she suddenly pulls out a plaster bra, filled to overflowing with cigarettes, her nose wrinkling. "Who'd go into a store and walk out with this?"

"My dad, that's who," he mutters, before he can stop himself. This girl, with her baby blues that are more deadly than any knife he's ever held. She can flay him with just a look, making him admit all his secrets. And he feels the need to clarify at her raised eyebrows. "Oh, he's a dumbass. He'd set those up on top of the TV set, use them as target practice."

"He shot things inside your house?" Beth looks shocked. Probably is, given what he knows of her life. Remembers her perfect house with all those nice things in it. Nothing like him, where he came from. Just how different they are. Just how bad it is, bringing her to a place like this. How wrong they are together.

"It was just a bunch of junk anyway," he tells her dismissively and then tries to stop but his mouth keeps going, like it always does with her. Can't ever rein himself in, before she knows too much. And he just wants someone to see him, to know him. Someone good, who won't judge him. Needs some of Beth's softness. "That's how I knew what this place was. That shed out there, my dad had a place just like this."

"Oh," Beth says softly, but he keeps going, trying to make her understand him. Wishing that she could, wishing that she will.

"You got your Dumpster chair. That's for sitting in, in your drawers all summer, drinking." he can still picture his daddy like that, white legs and big beer belly, trying not to wake him on the way to the kitchen to sneak some food. "Got your fancy buckets. That's for spitting chaw in after your old lady tells you to stop smoking." can still hear the fights between his parents, still smell the smoke. "You got your internet." tosses a smutty poster at her and damn near smiles to see the disgust on her face before he hears a walker growling, leaning towards the window to look before reassuring her, "it's just one of 'em."

"Should we get it?" she asks worriedly, her hand already on her knife.

"If he keeps making too much noise, yeah." he's not too worried about it though. That is, until he sees the sly little smile Beth gets, as she turns to grab something.

"Well, if we're gonna be trapped again, we might as well make the best of it." she offers him the jar of moonshine, her eyes too big and too damn innocent for her own good, and his. Her smirk is barely hidden when she challenges him, "unless you're too busy chaperoning, Mr. Dixon."

Ain't no way in his right mind Daryl Dixon accepts moonshine from a girl on her knees, in the same shitty trailer of his childhood with the one person that makes him feel like everything is a disaster but he'll be damned if he doesn't come through it unscathed. So he decides to fuck up again. Might as well.

"Hell, might as well make the best of it." he takes the moonshine from her, pretending not to notice the way she grins. He goes to sit in the recliner, sighing. He's always been a Dixon. But this place ain't so bad, not when Beth is beside him. So he raises a glass in cheers to her, to them, to this. "Home, sweet home."

  
  


* * *

  
  


**The fire shines in Beth Greene's eyes and Daryl Dixon knows he's long gone.**

He feels like his fucking heart is breaking. Breaking, over and over and fucking over again. Because yeah, no shit he's going to miss her. He misses her right fucking now and she's a foot from him, close enough to touch. He misses her smile, her laughter, her honest to god goodness that no one else has.

He misses something he ain't even had yet and that's all sorts of fucked up.

"We should burn it down," she'd suggested with a smile and a laugh and yeah. That's all he needs, with her words rolling about in his skull about staying who he is, not who he was, letting everything go before he kills himself. Trial by fire, with this one here. 

He'd go to the ends of the earth with Beth Greene, so burning down one little shack? That's nothing.

He stands, grabs his jar, and heads back for the house. When he pauses and looks back, Beth has an apprehensive look on her face, like she's scared she's upset him instead of giving him the biggest gift of his entire life, like she's not helping him move past everything that he was.

"We're gonna need more booze."

Beth Greene should not be so damn happy to burn a shitty little shack down. And she shouldn't look so damn adorable doing it either, a gleeful smile on her face as she sprays moonshine everywhere. They're getting covered in the stuff, sweet and sticky and every time he catches her eye, she's grinning at him.

They're out of moonshine when they grab their shit, walking out the front door. He leaves a trail of the stuff, right out onto the porch, and Beth tosses a glass behind her as they get a safe distance away. He looks down at her, unsure what this feeling is. Gratitude, maybe? Thanks?

"You wanna?" he offers her the matches instead and Beth's smile is dangerous, more dangerous than anything he's ever seen on her usually ‘sweet as can be’ face. It makes him wanna keep drinking moonshine.

"Hell yeah." she takes the matches, lighting the wad of cash he'd taken from the country club. He lets the thing catch fire properly, then lobs it towards the house.

The porch starts first, slowly. He throws another glass of moonshine into the growing inferno and when it shatters, the flames lick higher. He feels an odd sense of pleasure crawling up his spine at the sight of that shitty place going up, burning away everything that was. When he glances at Beth, she's got the same look on her face.

Happy. Defiant. And then she raises her middle finger in the air, against the flames. _I wish I could just change._ She has changed though, even if she doesn't know it. Even if she can't see it. But she has, he could tell her how. She's not scared anymore. She's so much stronger.

She glances at him, lips curling up further as she smacks his stomach. He knows what she wants. He's powerless to refuse. So he too, raises his finger up, to the past. To who he was. To who he doesn't have to keep being, to the father and mother and abuse and horrors he can leave behind. To not staying who he was. 

And he looks at Beth, her pretty face lit by the flames. They dance in her eyes, fire and ice, something he can't even think about, let alone speak on or describe. Something that's in his head now, in his heart, in every vein in his body. She's in him, she _is_ him, and he doesn't know when it happened, just that it did. He watches the fire play across her skin and how it makes her hair shine.

He knows he's in too deep. He knows it.

And when they run, he follows her, because that's what he's going to be doing for the rest of his life.

  
  


* * *

  
  


**Daryl Dixon didn't know how much he'd like teaching Beth Greene.**

"Daryl." slim fingers, poking him in the side, right between the ribs. She's got damn boney fingers, ones that can play the piano and guitar so prettily, but can also find all his soft spots and poke them.

"Git," he orders, batting her hands away without looking. "Try again."

"My arms are dead," she tells him but she's got a little smile on her face and he looks at the aforementioned arms, so thin and scrawny.

"Like limp noodles." he knows the feeling. Remembers it from when he was a kid, when he'd first gotten the bow and had spent hours working on being able to draw the thing, until he could do it again and again and again. Until the weight was heavier and heavier, making it more and more deadly. 

"You do it?" she holds the bow out, a pleading look on her face. "Please?" 

"Nah." he ignores her, though it's damn hard to do with how well those puppy dog eyes are working on him. "You gotta." 

"It's hard." she's not really whining. It's more like teasing, with intent. They both know she'll do it, in the end. She just has to complain about it a little first, actually get him to talk to her. "Even with the rope. I don't have beefcake arms, like you." 

"Beefcake?" he stops dead in his tracks, looking back at her. Beth's cheeks are flaming but she doesn't drop her gaze or shy away like she might've once. She just keeps looking firmly at him, then very pointedly gazes at his biceps before she starts wrangling with the bow and the cocking rope, making a little grunts that drill into his skull. He feels like he's on fire now and so he's the one to look away, mute. 

"Are there smaller bows?" Beth asks him, after she's got the arrow ready and has let enough time pass for his heart to stop thudding in his ears. "Like, ones that would be easier? For me?" 

"Yeah." he gives her a strange look. There's all sorts of bows, all sorts of sizes. He's just surprised that she wants one. "Don't even have to be a crossbow. Find you a compound, that's be perfect. Recurve, if you wanna learn it proper." 

"I do," she states, like that's it, like he doesn't have a choice. She's Beth Greene and she's gonna learn, damnit. "Can you shoot all of them?" 

"Yeah." he wonders if he's been feeding her enough. Usually she doesn't ask such stupid questions. 

"Then why the crossbow?" she wonders and he sighs. Girl ain't never satisfied. Knows all about his past, knows every last bit of his self loathing, has stared down all his fears and yet here she is, always asking more and more questions. Always trying to peel him open, like he's a damn banana or something. 

"Easiest," he answers, like it’s that simple and she’s an idiot for not seeing it sooner. "Most accurate. Point and shoot." 

"Would you use it if it wasn't all this?" to illustrate her point, Beth gestures to the wider woods. He knows that what she means is the disaster of a world they live in. "Or would you use something else?" 

"Like a longbow," he admits, mouth twitching like it wants to smile. "Pretty badass." 

"I'll keep an eye out," Beth says dryly, glancing over her shoulder at him. He grunts, thinking that he'll have to keep an eye out too, but for a smaller bow for her. She's not bad with his, which does funny things to his lower gut. He doesn't dwell on that though. He just starts thinking what the right size would be for her, the weight of the draw, compound or crossbow, compound or crossbow, compound or — 

"Hold," he says quietly but Beth's already stilled, crossbow pointed right at the tree. She sees the squirrel, same as he does. Then a little breath, slow exhale, and she shoots. 

Gets the thing in the neck. She turns to look at him with a proud smile, crossbow dropping to her side and he swallows, hard. Ain't no reason a girl like her should be holding his bow, no reason she should be such a damn good shot, no reason she should look at him with a smirk and fire in her eyes, like she's waiting for him to tell her how good she did. Like his opinion matters to her, matters more than anything. 

"Gonna teach me how to skin it, too?" she asks him cheekily and he grunts in response. He'll teach her everything he knows, that's the most annoying thing, all because she smiles at him. 

He's a fucking sucker is what he is. 

But he makes her reload the damn thing, pull the weight and everything. Just to prove a point, even if it's just to himself. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


**Daryl Dixon and Beth Greene both know what being hurt can do to someone out here.**

"Are we close?" Beth asks him in her sweet voice and he can't help but press closer to her, his voice lower and raspier than usual.

"Almost done." god, he hopes they are. He can't handle much more of this.

"How do you know?" she asks him and he thinks about his childhood. How he could tell her and that she'd understand. But today's a good day. Beth's got his bow, she's learning to track. And it's a good day and he’s not going to ruin it.

"The signs are all there," he says instead. "Just got to know how to read 'em."

Beth lowers the bow, tilting her head slightly. "What are we tracking?"

"You tell me," he mutters, glancing at the tracks to make sure they're still on course. Beth's got it though, so he looks up to see her looking back at him with an exasperated expression. He shrugs, not willing to coddle her. "You're the one who wanted to learn."

Beth huffs and turns back to the trail, inspecting it. "Well, something came through here. The pattern is all zig-zaggy.” she inspects it, before a slow smile unfurls across her face and she realizes, “it's a walker."

"Maybe it's a drunk," he grumbles, scratching his chin and Beth smiles at him, eyes sparkling the way they had in the moonshine soaked fire. 

"I'm getting good at this," she says smugly, raising the bow back up. "Pretty soon I won't need you at all."

"Yeah, keep on tracking," he mutters, waving his fingers at her. She eases through the trees and he follows closely. It's only one walker, from the tracks, and she's proven herself more than capable before. He watches her back as Beth looks into the clearing.

"It's got a gun," she observes quietly and he nods. She's got this. She's hit smaller targets before. She hefts the bow and starts into the clearing on quiet feet, focused on the walker. He is too, which is why he doesn't see the fucking bear trap until Beth is dropping with a gasp. 

Daryl Dixon has known fear his entire life. They are old friends, he and terror. But he's never known this emotion — fear beyond fear, dread tangling up everything in him and making it impossible to breathe, to think, to do anything but act. 

_Protect her. Protect her. Protect her._

He notices, in a part of his brain that detached from his absolute terror, that she still gets the shot off, catching the fucker in the cheek and it's not enough, she's in danger, he's got to keep her safe because he lov—

She hands him the crossbow without looking at him, like she knows he'll be right behind her, coming to protect her. He grabs the thing, doesn't have time to draw it so he uses it as a blunt weapon, swinging it up in a wide arch that smashes the walker's skull in. He knows that there aren't any others so he drops the bow and turns back to her. 

_Beth._

He damn near slides into her, desperate to free her from the trap. His fingers fumble on the damn thing, and then she's free. If she's hurt, if she requires help, if she can't move... He knows what that means out here. He knows how big a death sentence that is, how critical it is that she be able to run. She's always been fast and that’s how she can keep herself safe. 

"Can you move it?" he's surprised that his voice is even working at all, that the words can find their way around the heart he has in his throat. 

"Yeah." Beth gives it an experimental roll, winching slightly. But the majority of the trap seemed to have caught her boot; it doesn't seem to be broken or have any pierced skin. Probably just a deep, deep bruise. 

He breathes again. His hands tremble as they stop on her shoulders and he looks at her, tries not to pull her closer and crush her because he needs to know she's okay, that she's tough and is going to be just fine, won't leave him. Beth gives him a smile, full of sweetness and warmth, like she's not hurt at all. 

"Okay." he nods, then remembers that he threw the bow away like a jackass and now they're exposed so he turns and grabs that, then goes for the arrow. Beth is getting her feet under her and he comes to help, getting his shoulder under her armpit and heaving her up. Beth does a little hop, refraining from putting her weight on it. He holds her, head turning left to right before he starts leading them in the opposite direction of where the walker had come from. 

His heart’s still racing. He doesn’t think it’s going to stop. But she’s okay, she’s here and okay, alive and breathing, and he didn’t lose her.   
  


* * *

  
  


**Yeah. Daryl Dixon can't say it, but he knows it. He loves Beth Greene.**

He’s gotta stop touching her. The problem is, it’s a goddamn addiction. It’d started in the prison, the way she’d stand a little too close to him with Judith. Innocent. Innocent shit. Leaning into him when she passed Judith off or he’d bend over her when he was talking so that she could hear him. That’d been what he told himself. Not any different than the way he bumped shoulders with Glenn or leaned on Carol when he needed to. 

But out here, where she’s in danger at every turn, he can’t stop putting his hands on her, can’t stop touching her back or shoulders or wrists. And now that she’s hurt, it’s like he has some sick excuse from the universe because she needs him, needs his arms to lift her, to carry her. She tells him she’s got it, she can do it. And still, he slides his arms around her, sweeps her off the feet even though the kitchen door isn’t more than a few feet away, carrying her through. 

Because he needs to touch her. He started and now he can’t stop. 

Even now, sitting at the kitchen table with their white trash dinner, he doesn’t sit across from her. Can’t keep the table between them. He sits besides her instead, tells himself it’s so that he can keep an eye on the door, keep them safe. But he knows he’s lying to himself, knows it’s because he wants to be able to touch her, feel the heat from her. It’s where he feels like he can keep her safe, right by him.

"I'm gonna leave a thank-you note,” she tells him, folding a piece of paper and a pen she must’ve found. He glances at her, digging into the jelly with a spoon. Wants her to think that he at least learned some manners. Remembers the way she’d insisted that she was going to teach Judith manners.

“Why?” he asks her.

"For when they come back,” she replies, like it should be obvious, then quietly amends herself. "If they come back. Even if they're not coming back, I still want to say thanks.” 

He looks at her, at their food and the roof over their heads. They’re safe. They’re safe as they can be. And maybe she’s right. Maybe the good ones do survive, because didn’t she? Isn’t she here with him? Living and breathing and singing him songs cause there ain’t no jukebox? Maybe these people, whoever they are, maybe they’ll be good. Maybe they can be safe. And then he’s speaking, his mouth catching up with his thoughts. "Maybe you don't have to leave that. Maybe we stick around here for a while. They come back, we'll just make it work. They may be nuts, but maybe it'll be alright.”

Her smile is the damn prettiest thing he’s ever seen, the way she tilts her head and her braid falls over her ear. He keeps eating his jelly, trying not to flush in the low light of the candles they’d drug in here so they can see what they’re doing. She’s looking at him like she knows exactly what he’s thinking, exactly what his hopes are. The life they could lead here. Stay safe. Stay together. Build something different. And… Change. 

"So you do think there are still good people around.” she sounds so proud of him and just a tiny bit smug too. "What changed your mind?"

He glances at her, once, then twice. She’s too beautiful to look at head on, but she’s too pretty to look away. The words come out nearly jumbled. "You know.” 

How can she not?

“What?” she’s laughing, like this is all a joke, and he looks at her, still feeling like his whole world is reeling, like it has been since that night with the shack, when he found out she wasn’t a happy drunk or a sad drunk, but the kind of drunk who liked to burn shit down. How’s he supposed to tell her that? How’s he supposed to tell her anything?

“Mm-mm.” he mumbles, turning away from her. The light shines on her, and she’s too much, she’s a bright burning sun and he’s the darkness, always has been. 

“Don't mm-mm.” Beth gives a more than passable imitation of his mumbling, her blue eyes sparkling. "What changed your mind?”

What changed his mind? 

How can it be anything else? 

Her. Always her. Her laugh, her smile, her tears, her courage, her belief, her blind faith that he is good, that there can still be good in this world. Her beauty, her warmth, her goddamn compassion day in and day out. Taking care of everyone she loves and even the people that she don’t. Raising Judith, minding Carl, the way that she sings like an angel sent from fucking heaven. Her, looking up at him like he’s something worthy of everything. 

She’s the good in the world. 

She’s the good in him. 

And he loves her.

She sees it.

_“Oh."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAD AN OPPORTUNITY TO BRING MERLE BACK AND YOU KNOW I'M TAKING THAT SHIT. i just thought the escape sequence in ep 10 would be improved with Merle's involvement. 
> 
> also i cannot take credit for the banana line, i saw it in the comments on some youtube video where someone said 'damn, beth greene peeled daryl dixon like a banana' and i promptly lost my shit for ten straight minutes
> 
> anyways i hope you enjoyed my journey back to the moment where it all started for both me and these kiddos
> 
> reviews are loving and caring


	7. Beginning Anew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM JUST OVER HERE LIVING IN MY HAPPY BUBBLE WHERE THESE TWO FIND EACH OTHER AND LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER
> 
> HERE YOU GO

**Daryl Dixon knows he's going to get back to Beth Greene or he'll burn the whole world down around him trying.**

Bad to worse. Bad to fucking worse. Bad to way, way, fucking worse, the worst that he’s ever seen. Worse than his dad, worse than the Governor, worse than the dead — fuck, might even be worse than losing Beth. 

Trapped in a fucking train car. Shit’s went sideways, real fucking fast. The only thing keeping him going is the fact that his family is here. He’s got them around him again. And they’re in a fucking train car and shits real bad. But at least he has some good news, and catches Maggie when she throws herself at him. He can’t get the words out fast enough — 

“Beth. Beth. Beth,” he says and Maggie is looking at him in bewilderment, like she doesn’t remember her own sister’s name. 

_“What?”_

He can hear everyone around them try to catch up, Rick and Michonne trying to figure out what sort of impromptu weapons they can make with what they have on them, but this is important too. This is Beth. “We got out. She’s alive, we ran, we were together.” 

“Oh my god.” Maggie sinks to her knees. “Oh my god, she… Beth?”

“Yeah,” he says and Glenn gives a little sob from behind them. 

“Here?” Maggie demands suddenly, gasping with fear and Daryl feels like he’s stepped into a cold shower because no — _god no._

“Got taken,” he explains and Maggie’s brown furrows. "Black car with a white cross painted on it. I tried to follow it.” his voice cracks. If only he’d been faster. "I _tried."_

"But she's alive?” Maggie holds his face, nodding like she’s reassuring herself.

"She's alive,” he tells her. 

That’s what he believes. That’s what he has to believe. That’s why he’s going to get them out of here, because he’s getting Beth Greene back. 

Or he’s gonna die trying. 

* * *

Fuck Washington. Fuck Eugene. Fuck a cure, fuck Abraham, fuck Rick, fuck everything. 

Didn’t nobody care about Beth? 

After everything they’d gone through — fucking _cannibals_ — didn’t anyone else realize that time is of the fucking essence in getting her back? Who knows where she is? Who knows what she’s doing? Who knows what she’s being subjected to, if she’s being hurt or starved or — or anything at all. 

He needs to get her back, _now,_ and if no one else is going to help him, he’ll do it himself. 

He knows what Rick’s thinking. The cool, detached part of him observes that the good of one cannot and should not outweigh the good of many. Getting a cure out would be way more important than one girl, if that one girl wasn’t Beth goddamn Greene. 

But fuck the future if it doesn’t have Beth Greene in it. 

Daryl doesn’t want to fight with Rick about it. Doesn’t want to have to remind Maggie of the fact that she should be tearing up the earth to get her baby sister back, just like she did for Glenn. Doesn’t want to remind Rick that this is the girl who took care of Judith for him when he was out of his mind. Doesn’t want to fight with all of them as to why they should care about Beth, like she’s somehow less than any of them. 

Nah. Fuck that. 

He walks right out of the church when Rick talks about D.C. and them going that way. Part of it is because he wants to punch the man in the face and that won’t help anything. And the other part of it is because Carol’s gone too, has slipped out into the dark and she’s been odd since Terminus (ain’t they all though) and he just lost Beth, can’t lose Carol too. So he starts trekking towards the car they’d found earlier. Hardly has to track her, knows that’s where she’s gone. 

And that’s where he finds her. 

“What are you doing?” he asks her, seeing her bent over the hood. She takes a deep breath, raises her eyes to his. Something in them is haunted, a little bit cracked. He’d meant what he told her earlier, about them getting to start over. 

Problem is, he can’t see a point to starting over if he doesn’t have Beth. 

“I don’t know,” she admits tiredly and he watches her. He knows she needs to talk about things, but she won’t until she’s good and ready. And that’s fair. Because right now, he just needs her with him on this. 

“Rick wants to go to D.C.” he watches her expression, watches the way her eyebrows snap together. “Says Eugene can cure all of this.” 

“What about Beth?” she demands and he wishes he could hug her, wishes he could collapse against her. Because this is why it’s him and her, because she gets him. She always has, and on their walk here, she’d flat out asked him if he got out with someone. Could probably see it in his eyes. And he’d looked at her, words forming the name _‘Beth’_ before he’d lost it. And Carol had asked him, calm as a lake on a still day, _gone or dead?_

_Gone._ But that just means that they can get her back. 

“I dunno,” he admits. Because he doesn’t have a clue where that car went. “But if we’re leaving her…” he trails off, trusting that Carol knows what he’s referring to. That gulf of fear he can’t even start to touch on, lest he let it take control of him. “I just…” 

“We’re not going to leave her behind,” she states and he looks at the car. Maybe they can — 

Both he and Carol flinch away from the lights of a car through the trees, ducking behind the car. Call it instinct, call it experience, but they both know to hide, watch with cautious eyes. 

And for the first time in Daryl’s entire life, things don’t go from bad to worse. 

No. It gets better. It gets fucking _better._

Driving like a bat out of hell, the car passes by them without slowing. And Daryl sees it there, the white cross on the back window. He’s moving before he is even really aware that he’s doing so. The car is ready to go — really, he’s gonna have to start making this shit up to Carol one day — so he starts smashing out the lights. Don’t want them to know that they’re following, don’t want them to have a fucking clue that they’re coming.

“Get in,” he orders Carol, smashing out another light and she jumps, looking at him in shock. 

“What are you doing?” she hisses and he points to where the car is already disappearing. 

“They got Beth.” maybe not them. But they can certainly lead them to her. 

Carol doesn’t ask another question. Doesn’t tell him to go back, to get Rick and the others or more weapons or better supplies or anything at all. Nope, she opens the door and slides in and he follows suit, turning the thing on and slamming it into drive, roaring after the car. And to her credit, she lets them drive in silence, until he’s got his adrenaline back under control before she starts to talk. 

“Daryl. About Beth?” 

“Hmm?” he grunts, watching the tail lights, keeping his distance but sticking close. He’s not letting them get away. Not again. Never again. 

“How far are you willing to go to get her back?” she asks and he risks taking his eyes off the car to glance at her. 

“The fuck kinda question’s that?” 

“A logical one.” Carol is too rational right now. Too cold, too detached, too indifferent, but they’re going to have to address that at a different time. Right now, they need Beth. He needs Beth. And he can’t even start to tell Carol what he’ll do to get her back. 

“Anything.” the word comes out from between gritted teeth. 

“And have you thought about what you’ll do if she’s actually —"

“Don’t.” that word comes out like a cry from a wounded animal. He can’t think of Beth as dead. Can’t think of her as gone. Can’t even begin to bear it. If she’s not here, then neither is he. Not really. He’s not sure when it started feeling like if someone cut him, she’d bleed instead. But it does and Daryl needs her back. “Please.” 

“Daryl.” Carol’s tone softens and she lays a slow, careful hand on his arm. “What happened with you two, out there?” 

“She…” he wants to tell Carol. He wants her to know, wants her to help him with the mess between his ears. But now she’s got him thinking about losing her, her being gone. So he shakes his head and mumbles, “I dunno.” 

“Okay.” Carol doesn’t press him, like he doesn’t press her. “It’s okay. Let’s just go get her back, okay?” 

“Yeah.” his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. “Back.” 

He’ll be a one man army if they don’t. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


They have a lead. They have a damn lead.

If he was doing this with anyone else, he’d be a hell of a lot more cagey right now. But Carol knows him too well, has known him for too long, that he’s not scared of showing her just how scared he is of this. Just how much Beth means to him. Just how desperately he needs her back. It makes him feel like it’s going to be okay. Carol’s got his back. He’s got her’s. And they’re getting Beth back. They’ll go look into that white van, see what’s going on, and get Beth the hell back. 

"I bet this cost some rich prick a lot of money,” he mutters, looking around the swanky office critically. The sooner they get Beth and get the hell out of here, the happier he’ll be. He’s always hated Atlanta. "Looks like a dog sat in paint, wiped its ass all over the place.” he gives a sweeping gesture to illustrate his point better.

"Really? I kinda like it.” Carol tilts her head, taking it in. 

“Stop,” he tells her with a laugh, drinking more water.

"I'm serious. You don't know me,” Carol quips and he snorts. 

"Yep, you keep tellin' yourself that.” two of a kind, they are. No use pretending it’s anything else. 

It feels good to laugh. It feels good to joke, like it's something that they can do. That it's alright if they do. Because they've got a lead on Beth. They're going to find her. And he has no idea what he's going to do when that happens, but he's got an idle thought of it being a lot like his bow. Something will snap back into place in him, something that's been missing and a bit broken. 

It's corny as hell; he can hear the ghost of Merle snickering there in the back of his mind, but he's got no doubt that it's true. If anything, these past few days without her have made it clear to Daryl that he can go through hell, walk through it, and come out the other side with only one focus. Only one goal. 

_Beth._

And now they've got a lead and it makes it almost worth it, being in this stupid city. He picks through the remains with Carol and he doesn't feel remorse for what was. Doesn't wish it would all go back. He accepts this new world, is used to it being ugly, is built for it, is made into a man by it, is going to be the last one standing, but not, because he'll have their family around him too. Gonna have Beth standing beside him. 

Maybe things will go okay. Maybe this is going to get better.

“Daryl, don’t.”

Or maybe they'll get worse. 

Fuck.

He's berating himself for sending Carol through the gap first. Made sense for her to go and him to cover her back. Or for her to step first into a trap, which is what this is. Daryl peeks out, to see a young kid with a gun trained on Carol, looking the very picture of panicked. And panicked people get other people killed, that's what he'd told Beth. This kid doesn't look like anyone has told him anything.

“Get up! Hands up, both of you," he orders and that ends the thought of Daryl's to try and retreat, to come at it from a different angle. No use trying to run now. Fuck everything, he just wants Beth back. He just wants one fucking thing to go right, after a lifetime of them going badly wrong. Just one little thing. He's not asking for too damn much, is he? Just Beth.

“Noah." comes another voice and Daryl's too busy mentally berating himself over putting Carol in danger to notice anything other than there's a second person. Smart. Probably waiting behind the cover of the tent, that's what he'd do, but why does that voice sound so — "Noah, _wait.”_

No. 

No. 

Hell fucking no. 

The universe doesn't love him that much. The universe doesn't owe him this much, not even after everything, the beatings from his childhood and the abuse and the horror, even this whole fucking apocalypse. Nah. No. It shouldn't be this easy. He should have to fight, to claw, be broken and bloodied and bruised to even think about deserving this. 

Carol's making that same noise she made when he found her in the tombs. And that's the only thing convincing him that any of this is even remotely close to being real. And so he presses himself through that tiny fucking gap, not wanting to look and see the dream that's he conjured for himself like he always does. 

But in every dream he's had of her, she's in that yellow polo, her jeans, and those boots. Never in his right mind would he put her in a pink dress with Converses and a thick black line of stitches marring that perfect face. The face that is staring at him with such determination and surprise and then that wild, wild happiness, like the Georgia sun is coming up to shine over her beautiful face. 

Not a dream then. Real.

The hunter in him, the killer in him, notes that Noah is still talking, though his gun is lowered, is asking Beth just what the hell is going on, just what the hell to do. That part of his mind keeps ticking away, rational as always, gauging the danger they appear to be in. He's willing to bet it's a lot. He'll give a shit, in a second. 

But right now, he needs her. He needs his Beth. 

She drops her knife. He drops his crossbow. And then he crosses the gap between them and she throws herself bodily into his arms and it's like being hit with the freight train of the best kind, the kind that is all blonde hair and skinny limbs and Beth, just Beth, his Beth. 

He was right. Having her back is like being an arrow fitted right into the slot. It's just perfect. It's just how it was meant to be. Any doubts or hesitations fly right out the window, any curses he'd fire off at the universe die right there in his throat as he feels Beth's nails drag across his scalp and his shoulders, like she's desperate to bring him even closer and he tries, he holds her tighter to him, trying to reconcile the bulk in his arms with the girl in his head and everything that's happening. 

He's never letting her go. Not ever again.

“Daryl! Daryl, don’t kill her.”

Well, maybe he'll let her go at Carol's chiding voice, because these hands don't fix, they break, and he doesn't want to break Beth. Cannot bear that. So he loosens his arms just a little bit — she's so tiny, he might snap her in half. But he's not letting her go, not his Beth. She smells like hospital, like antiseptic and something medical, but she feels just the same as before. Safe. Soft. Alive. 

“Beth!" apparently, he's not the only one who relies on Beth for the strength to go on. This kid, this Noah, is still looking at her and Daryl wants to tell him to fuck the fuck off but he can't. He's got his whole face buried in her shoulder. "Beth, who the hell are these people?”

“We’re friends, I’m Carol. That’s Daryl." Carol is stepping up, thank god, taking over from them. He's gotta get her something really, really nice. He'll figure that out at another time, when he's not out of his skull with joy for this girl. "He’s…”

Madly fucking in love? Beyond grateful to a shitty world? Holding on to this girl in his arms like she's the last thing in the universe for him because he thinks she might be? Head over fucking heels, feels like crying, can't believe the gift he's been given because he doesn't deserve it? Rick does. Rick gets Carl and Judith back. Glenn gets Maggie back. Sasha gets Tyreese back. He's a no good redneck trailer park trash nothing, but he's got her and he's never letting her go? 

“Daryl? The Daryl?" Noah lowers his gun all the way, one eyebrow flying up and Daryl registers the slightest bit of tensing in Beth's shoulders. "The Daryl that she thinks puts the sun in the sky each day?”

He smiles. He can't help it, can't stop it. Hell no, he doesn't deserve this girl, doesn't deserve the way that she looks at him, doesn't deserve any of the pleasant and good things she thinks about him. But he'll take this, he'll take her, because he trusts that she knows what's best for herself and him too. Sure, he'll put the sun in the sky for her each and every day. And she'll make it shine. 

“That’s the one." Carol sounds so dry, but he can hear the happiness there, under her thick layer of wariness. He trusts her to take care of them, watch their back, give him this. "Just… Give them a second.”

He's been trying to tell Beth everything in his head. He's trying to get it out, to tell her how much he loves her, how thankful he is for her, the sheer disbelief of how they're standing here together at the end of the world, mostly safe and utterly alive. He's trying to get the words in the right order, but it comes out as, “Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth, Beth…”

“Hey. Daryl. Daryl." she moves so their foreheads are pressed together and he looks into her eyes, wide and startled. She's gotta see everything in there. She has to know. "Daryl. Hey.”

“Mhmm.” he presses his face back into her neck. He can't bear to look at her, feels like if he opens his eyes they'll be deceiving him. But touch, touch is tangible and real and he focuses on the tactileness of her, the hair tickling his nose, her thin arms around his neck, the stiff fabric of her jacket. 

When did he start crying, wetting the collar? 

"Did ya miss me?” she whispers in his ear and he about moans, about drops to his knees with the pain of it. He can't even tell her how much, can't even tell her how scared he was of all of this, how awful and horrible and terrible this is, that it might've happened any other way. 

To say he missed her isn't strong enough. 

“Hey.” Carol's grace period for them is over and that's okay, because Daryl needs to get Beth safe and if someone doesn't pry them apart, he'll spend a lifetime in this skyway, just holding her. 

“Beth, we gotta move. They’re going to be coming." Noah's words remind him that they're not safe, it's not just the dead they have to fight off, but humans too and humans are worse. "They’re going to be looking.” 

Yeah, and Daryl is going to be hunting. 

He sets her down. Beth wipes away his tears and he briefly closes his eyes to let her touch him, to know it's real. Then he opens his eyes and sees her, sees that she's here in front of him. He found her and she found him and god help those that took her from him. There won't be any mercy for them. 

She nods, just a tiny little thing. The kind she gave him in the woods, when they learned to speak without saying a word. 

_I'm with you. I'm always with you._

“Okay." she bends, grabs the knife. Carol pushes the crossbow into Daryl's hands and his fingers curl around the familiar weapon. "Okay. We need to get out. Fast.”

“We know the way back to where the group has camp." Carol is shifting back the mission orientated person she'd been before. Daryl is glad for it. He's not sure he's capable of anything but protecting Beth and murdering anyone who comes for her. "But we’ve got walkers and cops out there.”

“Believe me, the cops are more dangerous," Beth says darkly and he thinks about how quickly she's changed, in just the few weeks they've been apart. She's got a straighter spine; she holds the knife at the ready with no hesitation. He wonders where the hell her old one is, then remembers that whoever took her probably took it too. "They’re what we need to worry about.”

“They’ll know we’re gone. It’s been long enough, they’ll have done rounds and came up short." Noah is looking out into the city, fear on his face making Daryl's stomach turn. So this is a big threat. "They’re looking. Trust me.”

“We ditched the car, covered it as best we could but they’ve got a dozen or more vehicles," Beth says promptly and Daryl reaches down, takes her hand. Still doesn't trust that she's not a ghost if he's not touching her. She is speaking so briskly, so matter-of-fact, so calm and composed. "Cop cruisers. Vans. I dunno how many they’ll send. But we have to sneak out. They’ll be looking for us, they’ll run us down if they have to.” 

When Beth lifts the plaster cast on her wrist, he sees red. Cause right. She got hit by a fucking _car,_ because he was an idiot who didn't check the fucking _door,_ who got her fucking kidnapped and she had to get herself out — had got herself out, with Noah, and is already thinking four steps ahead, just like he does. And fuck, he loves this girl. He loves her.

“So we get a bigger truck," Carol says matter-of-factly and that's it. That's the plan. He holds Beth's hand as they go back for the parking garage, has to keep touching her or she's going to fade away. Beth doesn't say anything, doesn't protest, keeps close to him as Carol passes her a gun, keeps them as a tight knit group back into the garage. 

Carol spots the box truck the same time he does and her eyes flicker to his. He gives a tiny nod, so she heaves herself up into the cab, tossing a dead body out without remorse. When the damn thing doesn't turn over, Carol glances at him and he goes to the front of it with Beth — still with Beth, always with Beth — and pops the hood to see what's wrong. 

Beth covers his back. Course she does. And he doesn't hesitate, doesn't think of anything else other than the fact that he has to get them out, has to get them away, and so he sparks the wires, and Beth presses against him, like the angel wings from his back are going to attach to hers.

He wears the wings but she's always borne them. Always been his angel.

"C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Noah cries, yanking Beth into the cab first and it makes Daryl like him more honestly, as he follows. It's a tight squeeze and Daryl has no hesitation in pulling Beth flush with him, pressing her to him so that he can know she's still here. Still real. 

Carol pulls out of the parking garage, bouncing over a few bodies. Beth jostles in his lap but he could care less — take any bruises any day for her. She hasn't relaxed at all since he'd let her out of his arms back in the skywalk. She keeps scanning the road like she's expecting an attack and so he does too, grabbing the gun Noah's let go of. 

He trusts Beth. And he's never letting any harm come to her ever again. So he watches, waits, watches, waits, until...

“There!” Beth points to the roadblock in front of them. There are two cop cars on the exit, pointed nose to nose to block anyone from crossing. Four cops stand out in front, holding shotguns with bulletproof vests on. Guns pointed right at them, right at Carol and Beth (and Noah too) and Daryl has so much anger, so much rage, is still so broken and raw from time spent away from her. 

He knows what Carol will do, because it's what he would do. So he moves Beth to Noah's lap (full of regret but he's not letting anything happen to her, never again) and stands. He leaves one foot in the cab to keep himself anchored and then he swings himself out of the truck. 

They'll pay for what they did to Beth. And Daryl's becoming accustomed to killing humans. A life for a life, and he won't ever trade Beth for anything. He'll do anything to protect her. That's just a fact. That's just how simple it is. So he aims the gun and pulls the trigger before they can fire their weapons and they dive for cover right as Carol guns it for the fronts of the cars. 

Impact. Good thing they chose this truck, higher and bigger than the cars. It makes it through with what might be called ease. Daryl can feel blood dripping down his forehead and he lost the gun — it'd been letting go of it or keeping it on him and losing his damn hand in the crash, so he's alright with his choices. He grabs Beth, feels the way she's trembling like a leaf in the wind. Or maybe he is. Maybe they both are, vibrating on the same frequency. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god, we did it." Noah never seems to shut up, but Daryl doesn't really care. Not when Beth is wrapping her arms around him again and he's holding tightly to her waist. "We made it out. We made it out.”

“I," Beth holds tightly to his face, her nails digging in ever so slightly to his cheeks, "am going to kill you if you ever pull a stunt like that again, Daryl Dixon.”

She might. He wouldn't put it past her, honestly. But he doesn't say that to her. He just pulls her close again. 

She's here. She's here and she's alive and she's with him and they're okay. 

She's real.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
He’s been expecting this. From the second he arrived with Beth, it’d been like an internal timer had started. The real question isn’t when this will happen, it’s who will be first. 

And apparently Rick wins those honors. 

“Hey.” he sits down heavily beside Daryl, who has no reaction. Beth is asleep in the pew, her little head cushioned by his vest. One arm is over her face, reaching so that she can tangle her fingers in his. Her good hand, not the one still in a cast. He even looks at that cast, he wants to go right back to Atlanta and kill someone. “You okay?”

Is he? Is he okay? After the events of the last twenty four hours, is he even remotely okay? Because Rick had seen him before. Lost without Beth, desperate to get her back, his heart broken and bleeding out for anyone to see. But now she’s here. She’s here, with him. And by a miracle, she’s smart enough to know that he’s dumb as hell and so she’s taken his hand and explained to him everything in her head and his. And then she'd kissed him, like it's that easy. That simple. Just them and love.

“Mhmm.” he doesn’t have anything else to say. He can barely get himself together. He can barely believe that Beth is here, that she’s alright and with him and loves him and his mind is spinning. Has been spinning since he saw her again, since he touched her and knew that she was going to be by his side for the rest of time and never anywhere else, never again. He’s not sure what’s up or down, left or right, cause the whole damn world is Greene. 

“I…” Rick watches Beth breathe for a moment, then shakes his head like he’s still dazed. “Man, seeing you come out of the woods with her… There… I don’t have words.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl doesn’t have words for her either. 

“Carol said you guys found her in Atlanta, with the kid. Noah?” Rick asks and he nods. It’s gonna be a long time before he can even begin to process what happened today. Can’t start now. He just needs Beth. “She got taken to some hospital?” 

“Hit her.” the words make his hands shake and they only still through sheer force of will because it might wake up Beth. “With a fucking _car.”_

Rick doesn’t comment when Daryl’s voice breaks on the last word. He waits for a moment, then looks over at where Carl is holding Judith. “You know I’d have done anything to get them back, right? Do anything to keep them safe?” 

“Yeah.” Daryl would too. “Me too.” 

Rick nods. “But it’s different with her, isn’t it?” his tone is all knowing. 

“Suppose so.” if Daryl thinks about it, everything starts to slide off the face of the earth. Starts to turn in his hands, starts to make it hard to hang onto. He needs Beth here for this, needs her to smile at him and tangle her fingers in his hair and speak to him in a soft voice until she makes sense again. Until she pulls the shit from between his ears and makes it better. 

“Daryl.” Rick gives him a stern look and he wants to tell the man — his brother — everything. Wants to explain it all. But he can’t, because none of it makes fucking sense. Not Beth being alive, not him finding her, not the way that she kisses him and tells him that she loves him and he loves her and that’s all there is in this world. “I gotta ask. Are you okay?” 

“Think I love her,” he finally says, hoarsely. The words are damn near the scariest thing that’s ever came out of his mouth. And then he snaps it right shut, refusing to look down at Beth because if he does, something is going to break. He’s going to break. But then Rick just gives a little laugh and claps his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I bet you do.” the way he says it, with such ease, makes Daryl wonder how long it’s been. How long he’s known, how long it’s been this way. Has everyone known but him? Or just Rick, because he knows him so damn well? “Look, it’s not a bad thing. It’s… It’s a good thing.” 

“Is it?” he demands, his stomach turning. “Fuck, Rick, I… I lost her. I fucking lost her and… And everything, it went… I thought… Her, gone? I…” he stops trying to spit it out. It’s too fucking hard, but Rick is just nodding like he’s spoken in coherent sentences. 

“I know you’re scared,” he tells him and Daryl has, above the panic, a fleeting moment of being so fucking glad that he’s got people in his life who know him so damn well, they make sense for him. “Lost her once, just got her back, now she’s something more, right? Scared of how much more it’ll hurt if she’s gone the second time?” 

“Yeah.” he ducks his head because that’s it. That’s all. Because he loves her and he ever loses her again — for good this time? Daryl will never survive it. Not after all this. 

“We won’t lose her,” Rick says quietly, patting his knee and Daryl looks at that, the question unspoken. _How can you promise that?_ “You won’t, Daryl. We’re together. We’re a family. We’re together. We’re not going to get separated again. We’re going to do this, together. We’ll keep each other safe, together. And that’s the key.” 

Doing it together. As a family. 

Daryl’s never had a family. Never thought he would, because family was just pain and hopelessness and more. But this family — the one he’s been building around him from the start? It’s been broken before. It can be broken again. But Daryl can hold on like hell, just like he’s doing right now to Beth’s little hand. He can fight. Hell, he’s been fighting his whole damn life. What’s a little bit more? Is it not worth it, for her? 

“Okay,” he agrees and sees Rick’s smile. He doesn’t have anything more to say. There’s nothing more he can say. He knows he’s with Rick on this one and Rick’s with him. He’s still got plenty of other fears. He might tell Rick about them sometime, to be reassured. But right now he’s alright. He’s alright because he’s got Beth, he can watch her sleep, keep her safe. It’ll be enough. And when she wakes up, he’s going to hold her. Not forever. Just a moment. Because they have that. 

They get that. 

And he’s so fucking grateful. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Daryl hates it when Beth's out of his sight. Understands the times when it's necessary, like right now, but still hates it. And he can't touch her, can't see her, can't do anything but stand in front of the van with his arms crossed and the absolute grumpiest look on his face. 

Everyone had pitched in to get and give Beth new clothes. That dress is impractical in the best of times, and even worse for running around the woods in. They're going to Virginia, trying to get Noah home, but they keep running out of cars and gas, resorting to the old ways of scavenging. Lot less out here for that than there had been in the days of old in Georgia, but it's enough to find Beth some jeans, a borrowed shirt from Carl, a flannel of Tara's, socks from Rosita, and boots that Carol has found that are a bit too big but should work. 

He feels like he's getting a part of her back. 

"How'd I look?" Beth emerges from the car with a smile, eyes right on him. He is helpless to resist the upward twist of his mouth; shit's involuntary with her. She looks better now, looks more like the girl she was who burned down shacks and taught him how to live with himself. She looks... Well, she looks like his Beth. 

He can't say anything. Usually can't, with her. But she knows. Briefly wraps her arms around him, gives him a little squeeze and then bounces over to thank Tara and Rosita for their contributions, to go hold Judith, and he's got her back. He's watching it, making sure that nothing happens to her. 

Only sleeps when he's touching her. And even then, only just. 

"How we doing on food?" he asks Rick lowly, as the man nods to Abraham and starts folding up the map. 

"Gonna be okay for another couple days," he says, looking up at the sky as it darkens slowly. "Stay here for the night, you think?" 

"Yeah." it's as good a place as any. He nods and Rick nods back before turning to the group so they can do their nightly preparations — the tents, the cans, the small fires to heat up the cans of food. He keeps an eye on Beth in all of it, until she comes to sit right by him, Judith on her knee, feeding her lukewarm green beans and occasionally knocking her head against his shoulder. 

"Hey." Carol squats in front of them, her eyes on Daryl. "Tara's taking the first shift, Rosita's got second, and I have the last one." 

"Nah, I got one," he says instead and Carol shakes her head. 

"No, you need some sleep," she orders and he wants to argue. But Beth's hand slips into his and then squeezes slightly and when he turns to look at her, she's got a knowing little smile on her face. 

"Tell everyone thank you," she says politely and then makes a show of yawning. 

God, he's such a fucking sucker. And he falls for it each and every time. So he rigs them up a corner of cozy and quiet, watches as she rocks Judith but then hands her off to Rick and comes over to him, sliding right under the blankets and right beside him like it's where she belongs. He's pretty sure it is. 

He curls himself around her, practically lays on top of her. He likes that, when he covers her with his body so that he can protect her, even in sleep. Wonders how she feels about being covered by a dirty old redneck, but she never says anything. Neither does anyone else in the camp, though Maggie looks like she wants to and badly. He wonders if Beth told her to leave it be. 

"You okay?" he mutters in her ear and Beth somehow manages to snuggle even further under him. 

"G'night. Love you," she mutters and he doesn't say it back — he can't yet, can't shape the words on his lips when he's looking at her but he thinks it all the goddamn time — and he presses a kiss to her skull. 

He sleeps, the vague sort of dozing he does when he is dead tired but still listening for any snapped twig, any rustle of the leaves, any clanking of cans. Beth sleeps beneath him, hardly moving in her sleep. Sometimes it makes him panic, wondering if she's dead, but when he threads his fingers with hers, she always squeezes back. 

He wakes before dawn like he always does. Beth's awake too; her blue eyes find his and crinkle as she smiles. They don't say anything. They don't have to. Beth just rolls closer to him and presses her cold nose to his cheek so that she can warm it up. He holds her, relishing the heat off her body and the way she nuzzles him. 

They don't kiss in front of the others. But they do here. When it's quiet and the light is just beginning to rise, they snuggle close and Beth kisses him and he kisses her. He never liked kissing much, never really saw the point of it before. But he does with Beth, with her little squeaks and breaths she makes. She tastes sweet. She is sweet. And she's with him, the mysteries of all mysteries. 

He tries not to think about it too much. Head starts to hurt if he does and Beth's the only thing that sets it back to rights. So he just lets the sun come up, kissing her and tangling his fingers in her hair, the silky golden strands. Kisses her softly and sometimes roughly, like he’s trying to decide how he likes it best. Knows it doesn’t matter, only that it needs to be Beth. She holds him tightly, kisses him back, and hangs the hell on. 

She’s here. She’s alive. And he loves her. 

* * *

“C’mere.” Carol doesn’t ever bark orders at him. Doesn’t much have to, because she knows he’ll listen. 

He looks up first, to see where Beth is. She’s sitting beside her sister and Carl, with Judith on her lap, smiling as Tara and Rosita talk. She’s fine, she’s got a gun and his knife and plenty of people around her. He feels comfortable enough leaving her so he nods to Carol and then takes a route that will let him walk past Beth, make eye contact, and nod to show her that he’s going with Carol. But he’ll be back. 

“Hunting?” Rick asks lowly when they walk by. Daryl gives a half shrug; he’s got his bow, he’ll keep his eyes open, but that’s not the purpose of this and he’s pretty sure everyone is aware. He wishes it could be as simple as hunting, but knows it won’t. 

Carol at least grants him a few minutes of silence and solitude before she starts in on him. “So are we gonna talk about it?” 

“Talk about what?” he grunts, looking out into the woods. Walkers, game, other people, whatever’s out there, he’ll kill it first. 

“Beth,” Carol says simply and he resists the urge to take off into the woods. Fights it, for Carol and for Beth too. They both know him too well. And he deserves more, that’s what she’ll tell him, and he believes her. Because Beth believes her. 

“What about it?” he asks defensively and Carol keeps up an even stride, doesn’t even bother to look over at him. 

“The thing about you, Daryl Dixon, is that you don’t fall in love easily. But I’m pretty sure when you do, it’s going to be for a good, long time.” 

Fuck, he hates how well she knows him. “So?” 

“The other thing about you,” Carol continues on, unbothered, “is that you have a lot going on in that head of yours. And I know you need to talk about it. So talk.” 

“Nothing to say,” he insists and Carol chuckles. 

“Really?” she keeps moving. “So you don’t think that you’re too old for her, too broken, too cold, too redneck, too everything and anything and yet still somehow not enough?”

He stops right dead in his tracks. Damn her. Damn the fact that they’re a pair of sorts, that she glances at him and understands; that he somehow unwillingly found himself surrounded by people that know his every thought by just looking at him. He stares at her and she stares back calmly, like she doesn’t just expose everything dark and dangerous in him, doesn’t hesitate to open up the festering wound and make him suck the poison out before it seeps into the one thing that matters. 

Beth. 

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “All that, I guess.” 

“So talk,” Carol orders, like it’s that simple. 

“Can’t,” he tells her, can’t form the words any easier than he can say soft things to Beth. “Can’t think about it or I… I…” 

“Daryl.” Carol stops him, faces him head on, holds out her hand and places it on his chest. “Listen. We both know how you feel about her. I saw her, I saw you, in that skywalk. But you have to talk about it. You have to let it out.” 

“I’m scared,” he admits to her finally, thinking of the prison and the weeks after, even all the way back to her and the farm. “Losing her, fucking it up, being like my old man, what everyone’s gonna think, what everyone’s gonna say. I’m too old, I ain’t good, I ain’t nice, I’m… Me.” 

“Have you ever considered that’s why she might love you?” Carol’s eyes flash and he gapes at her. “Pretty sure she’s seen all your flaws, pookie. She’s been there right beside you this whole time. She’s aware. And she loves you. Despite it, because of it, whatever you want to believe. Whatever you need to believe. But do not — “ and here, she pokes him hard in the chest, “ — mess this up. Because she’s good for you.” 

“What if I ain’t good for her?” he asks desperately and Carol sighs. 

“Did you keep her alive, when the prison fell?” 

“Yeah.” what other choice was there? 

“And did you teach her to protect herself? 

“Well, yeah.” 

“And to track?” 

“Yeah, but —”

“And did she not escape because of you?” Carol’s blue eyes flash. “Did she not figure out a way to get back to you, in the same way that you probably would’ve done it? Because it sounds to me like you’re the best thing for her. And I know she’ll agree. And I also know you’ll fight anyone who thinks any differently. The past doesn’t matter. What matters is the now.” 

And hasn’t that been what Beth had been teaching him all along? So he bows his head, acknowledges the point in her words. And she smiles, reaches up to press a kiss on his forehead and then resumes walking. 

When they get back to the group, Daryl tangles his fingers with Beth’s, smiling at her. And for the first time he’s not worried if it’s okay.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
_There’s nothing left in this world, not anymore,_ whispers a voice in the back of his head. _Not for you, not anymore. Not for any of you, not for anyone._

He tries to shake it off. He doesn’t need to have faith, he doesn’t have to have hope. He just needs to have Beth. And she’s right here beside him, her head resting on his thigh. He’s been running his fingers along her hairline, unable to thread his fingers with her’s because she’s holding hands with Noah. He would think that he’d be jealous, but he finds he’s not. 

Noah lost his whole family today, his whole world. Daryl knows what that’s like. Knows how Beth can ease that hurt. So he allows the kid this, but he wishes that he could squeeze Beth’s hand. She’s fast asleep now, exhausted from the day and everything that has happened. After keeping everyone together, after the whole journey here, to lose Tyreese in such fashion? It makes him want to scoop Beth up, hold her close, press her tighter to him. 

She’s here, she’s real, she’s alive, and so is he. 

_But for how much longer?_ the voice whispers. How much longer are they going to be able to do this, keep running without any sense of security? There aren’t any safe places left and he’s going to wake up every day just doing his best to keep his people in one piece even as bits of them are pulled off here and there. And if one of those pieces is ever Beth, his Beth…

He leans down, presses his lips to the crown of her head. Beth gives a little noise in her sleep, something between a huff and a hum. He looks up and catches Rick’s eyes over the fire. Man looks damn haunted, looks like he’s not really keeping it all together, like he’s holding Judith and sitting here, but he might as well be a million miles away. Daryl knows the feeling. He catches Rick’s eye and they stare at each other, knowing what the other is thinking without it being said. 

_We need safety._

_We can’t trust anyone but ourselves._

_Things are bad._

_Things can always get worse._

_We have to stick together, we have to protect this family._

_I’ll do anything to keep her safe._

_I’ll do anything to keep them safe._

He looks back down at the sleeping girl in his lap. Beth is so sweet, even in her sleep. She hardly moves, keeps herself contained tightly, right against him. She deserves more than this. She deserves better, she deserves safety without fear. They had that, in the prison. And they deserve that again. He might not but she does and so does Carl and Judith and everyone else. He wants them to be safe. He wants them to be happy.

He swipes his thumb over her forehead again. She needs to get the cast off and those stitches out. He needs to go hunting. All of this is a messed up disaster of grief and rage and he can’t forget it, not even when he looks down at her and she sleeps so peacefully. Who knows how long this will last? How long can they last? 

He’ll do anything to keep Beth safe. Anything. 

* * *

  
  


Daryl hates when he’s right, hates when he gets to say I told you so. 

Because bad to worse. Always fucking bad to worse. 

They’re out of cars. Haven’t seen one in a few days, and even when they do, they’re dead or empty. Daryl follows in the back of the group, keeping an eye on everyone, but especially Beth. She’s carrying Judith, in nothing but a tank top because she’d shed her flannel to use it to cover the baby from the sun that beats down. Daryl can see the patch between her shoulders reddening, her fair skin burning, and he sighs. 

They gotta do something, and fast. But right now, all he can do is shrug off his vest and speed up a few paces, offering it to Beth. She turns with a bit of surprise, eyebrows up. He gives a pointed look at her back and her lips quirk upwards. She loops the vest on her wrist and then hands him Judith so that she can shrug it on before taking Judith back, making sure the flannel covers the little girl from the beating, relentless sun. She looks back at him with a smile, not even wobbling. 

She believes in him so much that even now, even in the disaster that is today, she still thinks that he’ll keep her safe, make things okay. She’s got faith in him. He doesn’t have faith in anything. 

“Hey.” Maggie has dropped back, all the way back to him. He just raises an eyebrow at her. He’s not in the mood for conversation and he’s got a feeling that this is one Maggie’s been wanting to have for awhile. “Can we talk?” 

“Ain’t we?” he grumbles and Maggie’s eyes flick ahead to Beth, his vest hanging off her. It’s annoyingly adorable, something in him twisting at the implications of this, her in his clothing, her in his protection. Never felt this before, but never felt much of anything before Beth. 

“Let’s go look for water,” Maggie declares, as they come on a tangle of cars in the road. Daryl wants to protest, but he’s well aware that this is a conversation he cannot avoid having. So he follows her down the ditch and into the woods. They walk for a ways, both of them knowing that there’s no water. Hasn’t been, for a few days now, and they’re running dry. No game either, no nothing. Just Maggie and her little frown. 

Funny how it’s cute on Beth and just annoying on her sister. Suppose that’s love though. 

“G’on,” he orders, once they’re a good distance away. He’s pretty sure that she’s getting him away from Beth so that Beth doesn’t start yelling. Daryl just wants it over, wants Maggie to hit on all his fears and insecurities, wants her to rip him open so that it can just be over, finally over. “Say it.” 

“Daryl, it’s not that I…” Maggie trails off and he can imagine what it is. It’s not that she doesn’t like him. Not that she doesn’t think he’s a good guy. Just not good enough for Beth, for her baby sister. He just looks at her tiredly, waits for the judgement. “I just… I guess I don’t understand it. And Beth won’t tell me, won’t explain anything to me. Just says it is what it is. And from her… I feel like that’s alright. But I need to know from you.” 

“What you want me to say?” he demands of her, stopping near an old rundown barn that reminds him of what Beth burned down for him — in him. “Want me to tell you I’m some creepy perv, who likes little girls? I’m some dirty ass redneck? I ain’t good enough for her? I know that. I know she ain’t supposed to be with me. I know if this was all normal, no way in hell she’d come in a hundred feet of me. You wouldn’t let her, your daddy wouldn’t let her! I know it’s fucked. I know it is. But hell Maggie, I didn’t ask for it! Didn’t want it! Like it a hell of a lot better if I didn’t give a shit about any of y'all, but I do. ‘Specially her.” 

Maggie gapes at him. She doesn’t say a word, just stares rather stupidly at him. He’s aware it’s probably the most words he’s ever spoken in one go with her. But it’s true. He doesn’t understand the miracle of Beth. Probably never will. It’s just that — an unexplainable miracle. He keeps walking, noticing that there’s no water at all. Maggie follows, until she’s finally found her voice again. 

“I don’t think you're those things, Daryl.” he hears the truth in there and feels his shoulders drop a little bit. “I know… I know you’re good. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you’re not good enough for Beth. I just… I think she loves you. The real sort of love. And this world is so messed up, I don’t want to see her hurt anymore than she already does if you are in it for other reasons.” 

“That what this is?” he turns to look at her, aghast and she cringes but holds her ground. “You think that I’m… Just in it for…” he struggles for words. 

Sex? They ain’t even come close to that. Daryl’s pretty sure it’ll be a damn lifetime before he’s ready for that. 

Kissing? Cuddling? Touching? Sure, all that is nice but Daryl's willing to keep his hands off of her, if she never wanted it again. Just having her alive is enough. 

The attention? The sweetness? How can Maggie not see that he’s in it for everything, everything that Beth is and will be and can become? 

He fucking loves her. 

“I just don’t wanna see you break her heart,” Maggie tells him and he has a sudden flash of a smile on the porch, the echoing words in his head. _You’re gonna miss me so bad when I’m gone, Daryl Dixon._

He sure as fuck did, so he gives a hollow laugh. “Think she’s gonna break mine first.”

“Okay.” for some reason, that seems to convince Maggie. He’s not sure why. Maybe it’s the look on his face. Maybe it’s the way he just wants Beth back in his line of sight. So he crashes back through the undergrowth, coming back out to pure panic on Rick’s face, and a pile of water bottles and jugs, with a note stating it’s from a friend. 

Yeah, bad to fucking worse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk. i just really like this chapter. i just would have loved to see everyone's reactions to beth and daryl. the little moments. them keeping each other safe. daryl and his girl. 
> 
> anyways we were jobbed and i don't understand anything that happened after 'alone' sorry i don't make the rules. 
> 
> plz let me know if you enjoyed this. reviews are encouraging beyond belief.


	8. This Is Our End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S THE LAST CHAPTER I
> 
> i want to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review. this fic was my baby and i love it so much. 
> 
> please enjoy. 
> 
> (also this universe includes no negan I DO WHAT I WANT and jams the whole plot of 6A into one day because that shit was LONG) ((if you listen to the song 'skin' by rag'n'bone man during that section, it's the soundtrack to it))

Beth doesn’t say anything when he drags her out of that barn. He’s got to be hurting her, because his hand is wrapped way too tightly around her bicep, but she doesn’t fight it. Just like she hadn’t at the moonshine still. He can’t help but hate himself, to feel disgusted at his behavior with her, but he doesn’t have the ability to stop. Because danger, they are in danger, _Beth is in danger_ and it’s making him grit his teeth so hard together that he thinks he might just snap his jaw. 

He’s gotta find the high ground. Keep watch. Find where the threat is coming from, neutralize it, keep Beth safe by never letting her out of his sight. At the same time he wants to stash her away where no one will find her, keep her as hidden as possible. The fact that he can’t really do either has him all sorts of messed up. 

“Daryl,” Beth says finally, when he’s found the high ground and is looking out, watching as the various members of the group scatter. He notes each and every one, eyes roaming for any hint of anyone coming for them. He doesn’t see anyone, which makes it all the more alarming. 

What if it is just one man? What if what he’s saying is true? What if? 

“Don’t,” he warns her. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to distract himself. He has to keep them safe. And Beth, lovely girl that she is, doesn’t. She shuts up, squats next to him and turns towards the direction that Michonne and the others went, her finger alongside the trigger but not on it. Yeah, he loves this girl. 

He can’t see anything. Doesn’t mean that it’s not there, doesn’t mean that it’s not coming for him. Just like everything else. He can fuck up. He can make mistakes. Problem is, his mistakes can get others killed. Like Beth, like Rick, like Judith and Carol and Carl. And he can’t risk that, not for anything. Not for all the pounding in his heart, making him want to scream. He forces himself into stillness, wills himself to be calm and think clearly. It’s easier with Beth’s thigh pressed to his. 

Seconds tick into minutes, then several. And with every second that goes by without an attack, he doesn’t know if he should relax or tense up further. And then Beth says quietly, “Daryl, what if nothing’s coming?” 

“It will,” he mutters in response. Bad things always keep coming. Never fucking stop coming. “It’s gotta.” 

“Things were bad at Grady,” she tells him softly and he wants to tell her _not now, really, please, not now._ But somehow he knows that it needs to be now — there isn’t a better time for it and never will be. They need to share what’s happened, so that they can decide how they’re going to go forward. “Didn’t know, right away. But they were. They made you earn your keep. Not just chores and stuff but… Worse. All the cops there had favorites. And you knew you couldn’t leave. People there, either too hurt or too broken or too scared, they didn’t know how it was out there. So they stayed, cause they had no other choice.” 

“And you?” he asks with a pained grimace. 

“Wasn’t nobody’s favorite,” she says quietly, “and I wasn’t hurt or broken or scared. I knew I could get the hell out. They didn’t want me to leave. They wanted to use me. And they thought I was stuck there, thought that I’d never get out. Thought that I was weak. But I ain’t weak Daryl.” her fingers slide in with his, squeezes tightly. 

“They…” he wants to ask her what they did, what they subjected her to. But he doesn’t, he won’t dare. She’ll tell him that when she’s good and ready. 

“It’s in the past,” she tells him firmly. “It’s what was.” 

“Yeah.” he gets that. Understands what she’s trying to say, what moment she’s referencing. 

“I just wanted you to know that I… I’ll follow where you go, Daryl.” her voice breaks a little and his heart clenches. “I’ll always run with you. But I… I’ve been places now, places that were dangerous but looked perfect. This could be a trap. I get that. I understand it. And it might not either. But I’m not going to like it. And I needed you to know why I’m not gonna be perfectly happy and hopeful about this.” 

“S’fair,” he mutters, and it is. He loves her for being that beautiful piece of sunshine and brightness in his world, for the fact that she has hope and faith when he has none, but she’s not who she was back on the farm, or the prison, or even at the moonshine still. She’s who she is, not who she was. And she’s staying alive. 

“I go with you,” she promises him and he glances over at her. Blue eyes, shining. And he nods. “But you don’t wanna go either. Or you’re scared of it too.” 

“Course I am,” he tells her, a bit crossly. “Thought I told you, ain’t no good people left.” 

“We’re left,” she retorts quietly and he thinks on that. Yeah. They are. 

“We still good?” he questions her and Beth lefts out a slow exhale of breath, head turning at the sound of a bird landing in a tree. His mouth twitches; he’d clocked it only a second before her. 

“It ain’t that simple and you know it. World don’t allow us to be good or bad anymore. Just allows us to make our choices. And live with them too.” Beth leans her head against his shoulder and he takes a deep breath. He needs to tell her — has been wanting to for more than a few days, more like a couple weeks, but every time he tries to talk about it, icy coldness slides down his throat and makes it impossible to speak. 

“It… Got bad,” he admits to her and she squeezes his hand. “Not now, I gotta focus.” 

“Okay,” Beth agrees, and doesn’t say another word until their people come back with the RV and car. He brings Beth back, counts the heads, and when he’s assured that all their family is here, takes her outside the barn. 

“Gotta tell you.” he squeezes his eyes shut. “You gotta know, gotta know why I’m scared.” 

“Alright. Alright.” Beth kneels with him in the dirt, wraps a thin arm around his shoulders. “You can tell me Daryl. You can tell me anything.” 

He can. He does. Chokes down the vomit and begins. 

“Lost you. Lost everything. Found Rick. Thought it was gonna be okay. Thought things would get better. Thought we’d go to Terminus. Said that it had… Sanctuary.” he gives a violent shiver, thinking of that damn message, those damns signs. Only thing keeping him grounded is the way that Beth’s hand has woven it’s way into his hair. “Weren’t no goddamn sanctuary to be found. Was a lie, the whole fucking thing. Took our weapons, took our shit, put us in a train car and… And… And…” 

Beth’s lips press to his temple; he can’t quite suppress the violent tremor through him. “I’m here, Daryl. You’re here too.” 

“Thought we could fight our way out,” he tells her. “Thought we were smarter, harder, better, faster… We ain’t. They got the drop on us. They took us guys first… Tied us up. Bound and gagged and they… They…” he gives a dry heave; he doesn’t have anything in him to throw up, not anymore. “Bent us over a fucking trough, a line of us, and they had a… A… Bat.” 

He can’t go on, not for a long moment. Beth is rubbing soothing circles on his back and he can hear her whisper singing to him, “and we’ll pine for summer…”

“Slit throats.” he has to get this out, has to tell her all of this so that she knows — knows why he doesn’t ever want to be behind walls ever again. “Like a butcher, like fucking cattle. Bleeding out. They… Fucking… Ate… Ate… And everyone who came, who tried to fucking find peace, find their goddamn sanctuary, they were all… That. And we had to get out, we had to get away. It was fucking bad. There ain’t nothing good left. Not anymore.” 

“Hey. Hey.” Beth’s fingers come up under his chin, making him look up at her. And slowly, the haze of the terrible memories fade as he grounds himself by her blues eyes again. He pulls himself back, fist over fist, from the horror that had been, to the world that is. Staying who he is, not who he was. Or what was. “You got out. I got out. We got each other. _We found each other.”_

“Yeah.” he leans forward, tips his forehead to press against hers, still feeling weak and shaky and nauseous. But better too, maybe. “Don’t want it to be that though.”

“You think it will be?” she asks him simply and he stares at her. He remembers walking into Terminus, thinking it was odd and off that the courtyards were silent, the people were quiet. Back at the prison, they’d always had people outside. Kids doing chalk, people in the fields and the gardens, people on the fence killing walkers. He remembers the way the people looked. And whoever this guy is, he’s different. Daryl can tell he’s different. 

“Don’t want it to be,” he admits. He wants safety. He wants a place to be with Beth. He wants a place where he can tell her things without having to stand watch. 

“Let’s talk with the others,” Beth tells him, kissing the tip of his nose. For some odd reason, that’s what makes him want to smile the most. It’s such a silly gesture of affection, one that he’d never gotten before and never thought that he ever would. It’s the kind of thing that she must’ve had all the time, gotten from her daddy and mama and Maggie. “We stay or we go Daryl. But we’ll do it together.” 

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say it. Say _I love you, you beautiful woman, you beam of sunlight sent down from above for me._

But he can’t. Just nods, swallows the bile in his throat and goes into the barn to see what Rick and the others think about this place.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He doesn’t want to do this stupid fucking interview, with the stupid video camera, like this is the old times and nothing is bad or weird or fucking off about this whole damn world. These people in here are weak. Are coddled. Walk around, with their kids and their dogs, putting all their guns away like that’s going to make them safe. His hackles are all the fucking way up and then they had to go and say everyone would be interviewed separately and alone, and so Beth is on the other side of a door and a wall and he doesn’t want to do this stupid fucking interview.

"You're welcome to sit, Daryl. I won't bite.” the woman, Deanna, seems nice. Genuine nice, not the kind of nice they’d seen before. And he’s not sure why he’s so angry when this is what he wanted, when this seems to be what they’d all been hoping for. And only Beth makes it alright, but she’s not here. So he swallows his discomfort.

"Yeah, I'm all right.”

She’s got uncanny eyes. Reminds him a lot of Beth, actually. Always seeing a little bit more than she should. He’s not surprised when she asks questions that make him want to get the fuck out of there and far away. "Daryl, do you want to be here?"

_No, I sure as fuck do not. I’m a wild thing, I don’t belong here. Never did. Never could, never can._ "The boy and the baby, they deserve a roof. I guess. And… She does too.” 

“Beth?” Deanna asks lightly and Daryl resists the urge to growl. Has to actually swallow the noise in his throat. “Yes, she mentioned you.” 

“Mhmm.” he wants to ask what the hell Beth said about him. He wants to know. But he sure as fuck isn’t going to ask this woman, not for anything. 

“Are you two close?” Deanna questions and he feels his lips curl up into a sneer. Yeah, here it comes. And it’s gonna be a hell of a lot worse from these people, the ones who’ve hidden behind walls the whole time. It’ll be like Woodbury but worse, because now there’s truth to their accusations. He’s some dirty old hick and she’s the fucking prom queen and everyone’s gonna be up in arms about them, despite not knowing a thing about him or Beth or why they are what they are. “I only ask because she mentioned that she was kidnapped.” 

“Yeah.” he works not to start smashing things. 

“She said she was kidnapped from you.” Deanna’s eyes follow his every pacing movement. “Not while with you. Kidnapped from you. Like she belonged to — ”

_Wasn’t nobody’s favorite,_ her voice echoes in his head and he rounds on Deanna. “She don’t belong to nobody!” 

“Not to you?” Deanna raises an eyebrow. Daryl makes an agitated noise; he knows the judgments that he’ll face, but it somehow still hurts all the same, gets under his skin and starts to peel it up from the muscle slowly and painfully. 

“Fuck no, not to me. She’s her own. We were — are — together.” he can’t explain it any deeper. Hardly can to himself, let alone this woman that thinks he’s doing things to Beth against her will. 

“She’s of legal age,” Deanna says mildly and he snorts. That’s the least of their fucking worries at this point. That’s stuff that only matters with places with walls, with dumbass rules like no guns. “I just…” 

Daryl knows what he must look like. He thinks of the face he sees in the mirror, at this place. Looking more and more like his daddy by the day, with his fighter’s nose and the eyes narrowed in an almost permanent scowl. He looks mean. He _is_ mean. And Beth is all beauty and warmth and smiles and everyone is going to look at him and think there ain’t no way in hell that a girl like her choses a man like him. So what's he doing then? Beating her, keeping her by fear? Forcing her, by blackmail or by abuse, to be with him? He don’t look like the kind of man that Beth Greene should even look at. 

But he raises his eyes to Deanna. And he tells her the fucking truth. 

“Girl saved my life. Do whatever she wants me to. And always will.” 

Deanna smiles. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The people of Alexandria must think that they’re crazy. Give them two houses, with running water and electricity and all the amenities in the world, and they’re not sitting around taking two hours long baths or watching movies or simply enjoying the fact that there’s air conditioning again. No. They all stay in the living room together, within touching distance. They sharpen their knives, they talk about the things they saw around the community, the people they met. The strengths. The weaknesses. 

When darkness starts to fall, they don’t split up to go into their own bedrooms. No. The time for that has passed. Everyone has a place. There’s an order for how they sleep and they stick to it, regardless of how things have changed. 

Someone always takes watch. Stands near the entry, since that has sight-lines to both the front and back door, can see the streets from the windows, and mind everyone sleeping in the living room. Tonight, it’s Carol. 

Judith in the crib. Daryl and Beth on the window seat nearby her. Carl, Michonne, and Rick on the floor, not too far away. Glenn and Maggie, tangled on the couch. Sasha, in the path of the back door. Abraham, with Rosita and Eugene behind him. Tara and Noah, back to back. Gabriel, close but not too close. Everyone within touching distance. Everyone is able to grab their weapons at a moment’s notice. And Daryl still can’t sleep. 

Neither can Beth. Rubs circles on his back, drifting up into the nape of his neck. Finally, when he feels like he can’t handle it any longer, he rolls over and looks at her. She gives him a smile at the same time lightning splits the sky outside. 

“C’mon,” she whispers, taking his hand. He holds on tight, still grabbing the bow with his other hand. Beth in one, crossbow in the other, and the universe is okay. He catches Carol’s eye when Beth pauses to check on Judith; he’s not sure what Beth has in mind but Carol seems to, her mouth curving into a tiny smile as she nods. Then they’re picking their way through the sleeping forms on the floor, mindful not to step on fingers or toes or knives either. 

The upstairs bedrooms are empty. They won’t be split up, they won’t be herded into a trap, they won’t leave the most defensible position. It makes Daryl a little uneasy, being behind this many walls and doors again. But Beth has him. And he trusts her. And he loves her. And he wants this, has wanted it for a long time but it’s never been the right time and something about it makes it seem like, well, if they can drop their guard enough for this, then maybe this place will be okay. Maybe not though; this is going to be too much happiness for him and whenever good things happen, bad must follow. And then worse. 

Beth doesn’t even have to door shut and locked yet before he’s telling her. Because lightning is going to smite him down, for having this much happiness, and he needs her to know before he goes. “I love you.” 

Beth’s smile is all moonshine-flames again, hot and heady and sweet and simmering. She takes his hand, brings it up to cradle the cheek with a still healing scar. 

She knows. 

And she loves him too. 

She gently pushes his hair back; it’s long and in his eyes now, hanging in front of his face to keep him hidden away from the world, to keep everyone out and far away. But not her, not Beth. She pushes his hair back to look right into his eyes and then hers flutter shut as she comes up to kiss him. 

There are no voices in his head but hers, and he keeps it that way by repeating to her — _“I love you.”_ — over and over again, as she pulls off his vest and his wings (she’s the angel anyways) and he lowers her inch by inch on a nice bed in a nicer house in a place that might be safe if they let it and he keeps telling her, over and over again, the truth that’s been in him for a long time. 

_I love you._

Tells her when he’s got her naked under him. _I love you._

Tells her when he’s kissing every inch of her skin, every scar she bears. _I love you._

Tells her when he's tangling his fingers in her golden hair, sunshine and light and halo. _I love you._

Tells her when he's pressing his face to her neck, gasp and crying from the marvel that she is. _I love you._

Tells her when he's pushing himself into her and there’s nothing else to say but _I love you._

He’s the storm and the storm is him. It’s both of them, rolling thunder and striking lightning and the hammering of raindrops on the roof. It’s something natural, something wild and fierce and overwhelming and he stands in it, lets it cleanse him down to the bone, wash away all that he was until he is only who he is. 

This girl; she puts him through fire and rain and brings him out the other side reborn. 

And he loves her. 

Afterwards, she holds him tight. They won’t stay up here. No, they have to go back to their family. Have to keep watch, keep an eye out, mind everyone. But for a second, they lay side by side, panting slightly from the effort of things and he traces every line and curve on her and she runs her hands over his scars and he doesn’t buck away from her. 

Maybe this place is safe. And maybe they will be okay here. And maybe, just maybe, he can remember what it is to hope and live and breathe, and he won’t have to trust her to do that for the both of them. So he presses a kiss to her hairline and thinks yeah. They can try. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“C’mon,” Beth orders him with a little smile, skipping just a few steps ahead of him. He grunts, more from habit than anything, and also because he can’t really speak. See, the Alexandrian's aren’t too stringy about their clothes. And they very generously have offered some to the new people, including the bright and sunshine girl. So now Beth has on cowboy boots and a dress with that jean jacket thrown over the top and her hair is down and washed and curly and she’s entirely too fucking beautiful for him. 

Deanna wants her to teach the kids, like she had back at the prison. Daryl thinks that it’s right where she belongs, except he wants her right with him. And it does his head in, like there’s two of her, the Beth that exists beyond the walls, who has snapping blue eyes and knives everywhere on her and she knows what he’s going to do without looking or thinking. Then there’s the Beth inside the walls, with a wide smile that seems so innocent, and clean skin that smells like the milk soap that she uses with such glee. 

Can they both love him? Is it possible? 

“Hey.” Aaron answers the door with a smile. “Thanks for coming over. Eric’s really glad that we’re getting to skip that little party. I told Deanna I need more time to convince you to be a recruiter with me, but we’re really just glad for the excuse to not have to talk to everyone there."

“Thanks for having us.” Beth steps into the house with a lot more ease than he does; he only follows because she’s going first and he always follows her. She gives a smile to Eric, who’s placing bowls of spaghetti on the table with a grin at them. 

"Mrs. Neudermyer is really looking for a pasta maker. And we're all really trying to get her to shut up about it,” Eric explains with a smile, as Aaron gestures for Beth and Daryl to sit. He does so, clumsily knocking into the table, bulky and awkward and ill at ease in a house like this, with people like this. Beth doesn’t blink, still smiling at Eric, listening to him talk. "I mean, we have crates of dried pasta in here, but she wants to make her own or something. I really think she just wants something to talk about, so... if you see one out on your travels, it would go a long way to help the entire group.”

“What does a pasta maker even look like?” Beth asks politely and Eric launches into a description as Beth smiles and listens and nods and Daryl feels like he’s sinking even deeper into the mud because yeah, the Beth that she is in here is definitely not meant to be with him. 

“How are you doing with things?” Aaron asks suddenly, when Eric pauses to take a bite. Aaron’s eyes are on Daryl’s and he feels like bolting out of the room but he doesn’t with Beth’s warmth beside him. “People here, I know they can… Talk. And they remember a lot of what was.” 

Yeah, like remembering a word where he and Beth didn’t end up together. Where she married some guy like Zach and was on the PTA and had two kids and a dog. Where he ended up with some drunk or addict, popping out unwanted kids every other year, grimy and rowdy and neglected, just like him. Back when the only way she’d fall for him would be through misdeeds or misfortune. What was; the world where he’d never have a chance to even look at her.

Daryl remembers that world too. Thinks they might be in it again and he should let her take her natural place in it, but he’s already lost Beth once. Can’t bear giving her up again, not ever, not even if it means leaving this place. And that makes him a pretty shitty man, putting her at risk for the simple fact that he needs her and selfishly wants her to need him too. Because he relies on her now and has for a good long time.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Beth says brightly, reaching down and taking Daryl’s hand. After a second, Aaron and Eric don’t say anything but smile a bit sadly. And then he sees the act that Beth has pulled on crack a tiny bit. Her and Carol both, they’ve been acting so good and innocent and kind in front of the other people. He knows it’s a good thing, to make themselves seem weaker than they are, but it’s been messing with his head. And then she drops it entirely, the familiar steel flashing in her eyes. “Everyone that thinks I shouldn’t be with Daryl can fuck off.” 

Eric snorts with laughter, then tries to hide it by taking a sip of water. Aaron chuckles faintly while Daryl just gives her hand a little squeeze. Aaron raises his glass in a little toast to her. “People said similar things when we first got together. Well-intentioned but misinformed. And none of them have ever seen you two together, out there.” he’s got a knowing look in his eyes. 

“That was the other reason for inviting you over here tonight, besides to make a case for pasta makers and avoiding the parties,” Eric states with a little smile. “We know it can be hard, when no one understands your relationship, when everyone thinks that they know better. And we wanted to make sure you got some space.” 

“Thank you.” and now she’s back, the Beth that he knows loves him, the girl who burns down buildings for him and never hesitates when a walker is in front of them and sings to Judith. She looks at him with her moonshine blue eyes and he feels himself exhale, bit by bit. “We don’t know who to trust, guess it makes us even cagier than usual. This is… Nice.” 

“You should show him,” Eric encourages Aaron after a minute of Daryl relaxing and Beth sipping water. Aaron raises an eyebrow and Beth answers with a raise of her own, squeezing Daryl’s hand. Aaron leads them to the garage, and Daryl stops dead to see all the parts for bikes scattered around. Behind him, Beth suddenly laughs. 

“Oh my god.” 

"When I got the place, there was that frame and some parts and equipment. Whoever lived here built them,” Aaron explains and Daryl moves into the garage, looking at what he has to work with, feeling oddly choked up. 

"It's a lot of parts for one bike,” he mutters, glancing back. Eric is in the doorway with Aaron, smirking, and Beth is leaning against the wall, smiling at him so beautifully, one eyebrow still quirked. 

"Whenever I came across any parts out there, I brought them back. I didn't know what I'd need,” Aaron admits and Daryl rests his hand on what he knows to be a frame. "I always thought I'd learn how to do it, but I get the feeling you already know what to do with it.”

“Yeah, he does,” Beth says sweetly and he remembers the few times he had her on the back of his bike. Thought he never would again. Might savor it a bit differently, now.

"And the thing is, you're going to need a bike, because you know what you're doing. You're good out there,” Aaron states to him and Beth comes over to him, to twine her arms around his chest and lay her head against his back just like she had when comforting him outside that shack. "But you don't belong out there. And the main reason why I want you to help me recruit is because you do know the difference between a good person and a bad person.”

Does he? Sometimes he just thinks that he knows bad people because that’s all he’s been around his entire life. Recognizes it. It’s in him, he just has to look for what he already knows. But he looks at Aaron, at Eric, at Beth, and he thinks of their family. He somehow has surrounded himself with good people. So he glances at Aaron, feels Beth’s arms around him and he nods. 

“Then let’s get to work,” Eric says with a smirk. 

He assumes Beth will go inside with Aaron and Eric, that they’ll all leave him be. But she doesn’t and neither do they. In fact, Eric brings them out coffee and he and Aaron sit on the steps while talking to Beth. And every time Daryl glances over, he sees the Beth that he knows, the sweet girl with steel in her veins and every now and then she’ll look up and smile at him and he knows. 

Trust her. She loves him. 

He builds a bike. It feels like he’s building a future. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was suppose to be a fucking test run. It was suppose to be a fucking test run. 

Bad to worse. 

All those fucking walkers had been bad thing. But it wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t awful, it wasn’t anything that they hadn’t figured out before. Rick had a good plan. They just had to make it work. And this morning, when he’d kissed Beth goodbye, he’d told her that it was a practice run, that he’d be back. Beth had wanted to go with, had wavered, but he’d been the one to insist that she stay here. Take Judith and Carl to school, go be a teacher like she had been offered. Go be with those kids. Make it work. Try.

And then every little thing had fallen apart. And Rick had been on the walkie — ordering him, pleading with him. 

_“Daryl. I know. I know she’s back there. But if the rest of that herd turns around, the bad back there gets worse. You have to keep going. You have to do it for her. You have to keep her safe.”_

He hates this. He hates every fucking second of this, is in agony, is having his being shredded to complete and total bits by it. Because he needs to get back to Beth, he needs to protect Beth, he needs to do something but he can’t, he has to keep going, he has to pull the rest of the threat away from her. He has to do his best to keep her safe but he can’t stop thinking that this is it — he’d found her only to lose her all over again, and this time, it’s even worse. 

He stays with Sasha and Abraham. He stays with them because that’s what matters. And it ends up being a good thing, because where they turn off, ends up being their saving grace. That, and Abraham’s uncanny ability to recognize RPG rocket launchers and thank god for that. So they load the whole thing up and Daryl gets the hell back on his bike and throws himself around the corners and curves and resists the urge to drive in a straight line through the trees to just get the hell back home. 

To Beth. 

It’s bad, when he gets back. It’s real fucking bad. He can’t imagine a way in which a semi crashed into the wall with walkers invading and savages running through what he was just starting to think of as home. And he grabs his bow and his gun and he starts fighting his way through it, killing anyone and every that stands between him and the house that can be called a school. Fights to it. 

To Beth. 

He’s killing people. He knows he is. Trail of bodies in his wake, not one to ever rise again. Walkers don’t fight like this, walkers aren’t mad like this. He doesn’t care. To the garage. To her. And he doesn’t have any sort of hope. Can’t have faith. Can’t have any of that, until he gets to her. Until he sees that she’s still alive and breathing and living with him. He needs her, fuck he needs her. 

Beth.

He feels like he’s losing his mind, like things are slipping. The world isn’t right without Beth. He’s killing and killing and killing, single minded in the way of getting to her. No one survives even coming near him, walker or savage or a mixture of both. He has to be relentless. He has to be deadly. He needs her, he needs to get to her or the whole world is going to go red or black or something or anything. He’ll die getting to her. He’ll do anything to get to her. 

The garage door is hanging open when he reaches it. Heart sinking, throat tight, mind curiously blank, he checks over his shoulder to make sure he’s not being followed. Then he slips inside, bow up. Chairs are overturned and one walker lays dead on the floor, the back of the skull exploded. He steps over it. Watches. Waits. And then enters the house, which is quiet and still. Another walker, dead in the kitchen. He sees the footprints, leading downstairs to the basement. He follows, trying and failing to prepare himself for what he’ll find.

He opens the door. He descends, on light and quiet feet. And gets to the bottom, bow up, and —

Beth stands there. 

_Beth._

She stands there with her gun up and aimed right at his face. In front of her are two bodies, not walkers but the humans that are rampaging outside. She doesn’t shake. She doesn’t tremble. She just has that gun cocked and pointed straight at him and then he drops the bow, because he’s been shot before and it hadn’t been fun, but he really, really doesn’t want to be shot by Beth. 

“Daryl?” her voice cracks and the gun lowers. 

“Fuck, Beth,” he croaks and then she launches herself at him, smacking him hard around the middle like she did that day in that skywalk and he holds her close. Cradles the back of her head, but only for a second. Then he puts her down, grabs the bow, and makes sure she has her gun. 

“How bad is it out there?” she asks and he shakes his head. He doesn’t really know, honestly, had been single minded in his quest back to her and so she nods, back to being determined and focused. “I killed the two that followed me in here. I had to.” 

“I know,” he tells her and wants to ask her more, wants to ask her more, but she’s turning around and going to the door that she’d been standing in front of. 

“It’s okay,” she calls through it and he wonders if she’s taken a blow to the head but then…

She opens the door. And he sees the little faces looking up at him from the closet. And he chokes down something between a sob and a laugh because of course. Beth Greene, defender of the small. She’d gotten all the children to safety, including little Judith and all the rest. She’d made sure that they were safe. And he wants to kiss her, he wants to tell her everything, but then the whole house shakes and a little voice from inside the closet cries, “what was that?” 

“Do you know?” Beth demands of him and he gives a little nod. 

“Uh, yeah. Might’ve been a rocket launcher.” 

“A _what?”_ she hisses and he hefts the bow. “Daryl Dixon!” 

She’s here. She’s safe. She’s alive and she’s a fighter and she’s strong and wonderful and protective and he’s going to kill everyone that so much as thought of putting her in danger. 

“Keep them safe!” he orders and then thunders back up the stairs. Beth stays with the kids — he knew she would, they’ve all got jobs to do — and is still there when he comes back downstairs to give her the all clear, to tell her that they’ve killed the wolves and Abraham used the rocket launcher to draw all the walkers away and people are dead, because people are always dying, but they’re okay. 

She kisses him and then hits him on the chest with an open fist and a tiny sob and presses their foreheads together. Together, they bring the children of Alexandria back up to safety. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Want me to come with?” Beth asks, kissing his nose. 

“Nah.” he wraps a lazy arm around her shoulders, bringing her full weight down on his chest. “I know what you’re up to here. It’s important too.” 

“What, teaching and wiping noses?” she giggles, shifting so that she’s straddling him. “I can take a day off. Kids won’t even miss me. Or do you need a day with Rick? A boys day?” 

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” he grumbles, finding the hollow of her collarbone and gently placing his teeth on it, feeling her heartbeat tick upwards. “Come if you want then.” since when can he tell her no?

“No, I don’t think I will.” Beth’s lips find his temples until he pulls back, giving her an affronted look. 

“Why you offering then?” 

“Cause I like it when you cave,” she giggles and he growls, flipping her so that he hovers over her. Beth just grins, pushing his hair back away from his face. “And plus, Maggie and the others already asked me to help them with some of the work in the gardens and stuff. I think Rick misses you. Go have a boys day.” 

“You are…” he trails off, without words for her. Beth just smiles cheekily, until Aaron knocks loudly on their door. 

“Daryl, Rick’s leaving for the gate. You better hurry.” 

“We’re getting our own damn house next,” he informs her and she shrugs. Not like she’s going to protest that. But living with Aaron and Eric is a lot easier than with Glenn and Maggie. 

Beth helps him get dressed, the two of them tossing articles of clothing back and forth. He’d always thought that he would be dragged into domestic bliss kicking and screaming in terror the whole way, but it turns out it’s as easy as Beth’s arms around him in the morning and her little smile before they fall asleep. He locates her favorite button-up and then she’s slinging him his vest without looking and they both walk downstairs, Daryl yawning and Beth braiding her hair back. 

“Run today?” Eric asks, pushing coffee towards them in two mugs. “Think you can find any more of the lilac scented dish soap?”

“Top of the list,” Daryl promises him and Beth grins at him over the cup of her coffee as they both walk out the door. He glances at her as she walks to the gate with him. “Anything on your list then?” 

“Oh yeah,” she says, mock seriously. “I’d like frozen yogurt and a pet pony and gifts from Santa.” 

“Shut up,” he grumbles at her and she grins, bumping his shoulder. 

“Whatever you find, whatever comes back,” she says, stretching up on her tippy toes to kiss him. When she comes back down, she lingers but only for a moment, her expression shifting from playful to serious, only for a second. “Just come back.” 

They don’t say goodbye. They never say goodbye. Probably never will. 

“Hey, Daryl,” Denise calls and then Beth reaches around, tucks his red rag in the back of his pocket, glances a kiss off his jaw, and is gone before Denise comes over, huffing a little. “Did you see that thing I put on the bottom of the list?” 

“Yeah.” Daryl lets Beth go, turning to their doctor. “The hell’s pop?” 

Honestly, what a fucking day. Part of him is glad that Beth wasn’t with to see him and Rick run after that truck like a couple of dumbasses, but then he wishes she were with, because she’d be laughing her ass off the entire time at all of this. She’d find the humor in it, the way that he almost thinks he wants to, almost thinks he can. And all things considered, it hadn’t been a bad day. Might be leading them right into a fucking trap or another fight or something worse but…

Well, he’s still alive. And Rick can keep going on about the law of averages, but the universe gave him Beth and keeps her here with him, so the law of averages should deal him a whole lotta bullshit, if he gets that pretty girl in his arms every night. And so he has to look at Rick and shake his damn head as they approach Alexandria together, the unconscious guy in the backseat with him. At least he’ll have a good story for Beth tonight. 

She’s on the gate when they get back. Always is, always ends there whenever he’s out beyond the walls and she’s still inside. He sees the look on her face, half surprise and half relief and then it shifts to entirely amusement when Rick stops just inside the gate. She hands the duty off to Tobin with a nod and then climbs in the empty passenger seat, only glancing at the unconscious man beside her for a second, like this is their normal. 

“So,” she says conversationally, “how was your day, honey?” 

Rick snorts in amusement and Daryl grumbles until they get to Denise’s house. Beth darts ahead to knock on the door while he and Rick heave the guy out of the van, hurrying up the sidewalk and onto the porch. Beth stands aside just as the door opens, Denise and Tara both looking out into the night with bemused expressions and sleep tousled hair. 

"Sorry to wake you up,” Rick apologies and Denise squints at the bound and unconscious man between them while Tara simply snorts and Beth grins.

"Who is this?” Denise demands without preamble. 

"Come on, man, he's heavy,” Daryl complains, drained after the day he’s had. Then he sees Denise’s raised eyebrows and recalls what had been said, not twelve hours ago. "Oh, that thing, uh, didn't work out. It's this asshole's fault. Sorry."

"Lay him on the bed.” Denise snaps into doctor mode, moving aside. 

"All right, take a look at him.” he had gotten hit with a door from a van moving at a decent clip. "He ain't staying, though.”

They carry him inside and down to one of the unfinished rooms in the basement. He can hear Tara ask Beth what’s going on and Beth’s response of being unclear. She obviously isn’t too worried though; besides being drenched in dried sweat, he’s unharmed. He gets the guy laid out for Denise, makes sure his bindings are tight, and then turns back to Beth, going to give her a kiss that she returns with gusto, and then a quizzical expression when he pulls back. 

“Some kind of day?” she asks him with an arched brow and he grunts. 

“Some kind.” then he goes to get the guy some water. Gonna have one hell of a headache when he wakes up. Rick’s in the cell, leaving him a note. Beth waits in the doorway, watching the two of them. Rick glances at him, the expression the same apprehensive one he always has when faced with new people. Then he shrugs.

"We'll see,” he declares, rising. He looks at Beth, who’s got her arm wrapped around Daryl’s and her head resting on his shoulder. His face softens some. "It is pretty stupid of us to go out there, isn't it?" 

“Yep.” Daryl kisses Beth’s temple, then looks back at Rick. "Do it again tomorrow?" 

“Yep.” and then the three of them walk out together. 

“I got watch,” Tara tells them, with a yawn. “I got a good nap in this afternoon, I can handle it. And no offense, but you guys look like shit. Go home and shower.” 

“She’s right, you smell,” Beth quips and Daryl pulls her closer into his armpit to hear her squeak of protest. Rick shakes his head at the two of them and then they go out into the night. Beth wraps her fingers around Daryl’s and waits until they get back to the house they share with Aaron and Eric before she asks softly, “wanna talk about it? Or no?” 

“Nope.” he does want that shower and some sleep. Sun’s gonna rise way too early tomorrow and they’ll do this all over again. And he wants Beth too.

“And did you get any lilac dish soap?” she asks him and he opens the back door of the house, ushering her through it. 

“Nope.” 

“And did you miss me?” she asks mischievously as they climb the stairs to their room. He groans and kicks off his shoes. 

“Nope.” 

“Daryl Dixon.” she swats at him so he catches her wrist and brings her closer, kissing her deeply. 

“You know the answer to that,” he says lowly and she runs a hand through his hair. 

“You really are sweaty,” she observes. “What kinda day did you have?” 

“The kind where I’m gonna sleep twelve hours after,” he informs her and Beth starts to pull off her clothes. They always shower together. Daryl likes that best about them. End of the day, they rinse it all away until they’re the only thing that remains. 

“That kinda day.” Beth nods like he’s told her everything. “Alright Daryl Dixon, then don’t even think about kissing me, or you won’t get any sort of sleep.” 

“Really?” he captures her lips again and she laughs. 

“Obviously not that bad of a day.” she starts the shower for them and he steps inside the warm stream, sighing with relief. Beth follows and he holds her tight. 

Law of averages, or whatever the fuck Rick said. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Hey.” Daryl thumps his crossbow against the edge of the door, hard. “What the goddamn hell are you doing here, huh?”

“Language,” retorts a sassy, bright voice and he feels the corner of his mouth turning upwards. Yeah, that’s real familiar. He waits with a smirk, until the edge of a wide brimmed hat pokes out the side of the door. He raises an eyebrow, leaning against the counter, keeping his face as scary and impassive as he can. Won’t work though. Never has, not since she was a little, itty bitty baby. Cause she knows she’s got him wrapped around her little finger and always has.

“Whatcha doing in my house, Lassie?”

The nickname had become necessary when she’d learned to mimic words. He’d about had his ass in a sling the first time she’d looked up at him with big brown eyes, the most adorable little smile, and proudly said at the top of her little lungs, “asskicker!”

Yeah, someone got their ass kicked that day, but it wasn’t her.

“I’m babysitting,” she says, like it’s obvious. He stays impassive cause he knows she likes it when he’s grumbly and prickly. She’s got a lot in common with the woman who raised her, not the least of which is the braid that hangs down the side of her face.

“Don’t see no baby,” he retorts and she rolls her little eyes.

“Cause he’s sleeping. Cause I’m a good babysitter.”

“That what you are?” he gives a thoughtful little nod. “More like pain in my ass.”

“Language!” comes a voice from behind him and they both spin to look at their new arrival.

Beth is giving him a strict look. Judith looks _delighted_ to have gotten him in trouble.

“Ahh…” he has no retort, no answer. So in for a penny, in for a pound. “Fuck.”

“Daryl!” Beth comes over to swat at his stomach; he catches her wrist in a tight grip and pulls her flush against him, knowing by how her eyes are twinkling that he’s not in any trouble at all.

“What?” he bends down, tasting the sweetness of her.

“Ew. No. No.” Judith puts her hands up, shaking her head. “No kissing, that’s a rule!”

“Don’t you got a baby to watch?” he demands of her and Judith shrugs.

“Both his parents are home now. I’m all done.”

“Then git,” he orders and Beth places a kiss on his jaw before she turns to Judith and ropes her into a one armed hug, pressing her face to her stomach.

“No, no gitting. Staying right here. Don’t gotta go nowhere on the account of big old mean Uncle Daryl,” she states and then both girls grin up at him.

That’s it. That’s his whole world, wrapped up in one neat little bundle. That blue eyed infuriating force of nature contained in the body of a woman. And her partner, sidekick, daughter not daughter, that little brown eyed girl that he’d protect from anything in the entire world. They make quite a pair, Judith and Beth. They could both end him with a look, and they well know it. There’s just one little piece missing from it.

A wail shatters the air and Daryl raises his eyebrow at Judith. “The hell kinda babysitter are you, kid?”

“A good one,” Judith counters as Beth leaves them to bicker. Half the fun is cause she can keep right up with him, doesn’t ever back down. She spends too much time with Beth, knows where to dig into the soft parts of him.

“That so?” he asks her and then Beth comes back, holding tight to the other person in Daryl’s world that he lives and breathes for. All 21 pounds of him. Blue eyed, chubby cheeked, with his daddy’s nose and his mama’s smile, a full head of dark hair. They call him Bennett. Beth had suggested Bingley, with a twinkle in her eye, and he’d flat out told her no.

“Benny heard daddy’s voice and wanted to say hello,” Beth states, jostling the smiling little boy on her hip and raising her eyebrows at him.

“Gimme,” Daryl orders, hands going out to snatch his son up. Beth turns him over and Daryl lifts him high, smiling at him.

He’d never wanted a son. Had gone out of his mind when Beth told him that she was pregnant, had spent a week in the woods before returning, shamefaced, for having left her like a coward. Beth hadn’t minded at all. Had been expecting it, she told him calmly, because that’s what he does and she understands him and they’re good.

She’s far, far too good for him but he’d lost her once and never again.

He’d been hoping the whole time that it’d be a girl. Cause somehow, that was going to be easier. He’d never lay a hand on a little girl. Never laid a hand on Beth or Judith. But a little boy? Dixon men hurt their sons, that was the way of the world. And how did he know he was going to be any better? Make it any easier?

Because he had Beth. And Beth did what she’d always done and told him where the hell to go and how to do it and held his hand the entire way. And now he has a son, a little boy who is almost a whole year old (by anyone’s best guess at least) and sometimes he still has to look at Beth, has to have her tell him what the hell to do. But she always does.

“How come Uncle Daryl likes Bennett so much more than me?” Judith asks, in a voice that sounds peeved but is mostly joking.

“Oh, he liked you plenty when you were a little baby,” Beth says, smiling at Judith. “Always holding you, feeding you, coming to find me when he missed you.”

“How come he doesn’t like me no more?” Judith aims a kick at Daryl’s shin, just like Beth does when she wants to get his attention.

“Cause you got a real sassy mouth now,” he counters and Judith grins a gapped tooth smile.

“You two gonna argue this whole time?” Beth demands, taking Bennett back and kissing his cheek. “Or you gonna get ready for the festival?”

“Yeah Daryl, you gonna shower?” Judith taunts and he growls, lunging for her and catching her around the waist, tossing her over his shoulder. She’s getting bigger and heavier and he’s getting older and stiffer, so he groans on the way up while Judith shrieks with glee. Beth rolls her eyes.

“Honestly, you two, we get nothing done around here.” Beth shakes her head, jostling Bennett. “How about you, Benny-boy Dixon? You gonna be my good boy and get ready? Huh? Let these two fight it out. You and I will get there early and we’ll eat all of Carol’s cookies. How’s that sound?”

“No!” Judith cries, at the same time Daryl stops spinning her. “We’ll get ready, promise!”

“Oh?” Beth raises an eyebrow. “G’on then. Let’s see it.” and so Daryl unceremoniously drops Judith back onto her feet.

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” Judith promises and then bolts out the door. Beth waits until the door slams and then she turns to Daryl, a slow smile unfurling on her face.

“Five minutes?” she quips and he narrows his eyes, backing away.

“Thought you told me I had to get ready,” he reminds her and Beth grins. “Ain’t gonna be no five minutes girl, never is with you.”

“Carol always saves half a batch of cookies for you and Jude later, you know,” she reminds him and he takes Bennett from her, letting her come up for a slow kiss. “And you know what else? Aaron asked if he and Eric could babysit him for the night.”

“Did they?” he looks at the little boy. He’s always reluctant to leave him for any amount of time, especially given that he has to leave so often for hunting and to visit the other settlements and recruiting and missions with Rick. But Aaron and Eric are good, and they love Bennett almost as much as Daryl does. And it would be nice, a night all to themselves. Haven’t had one of those in a good long time.

“Yeah and I agreed and that’s the only reason you’re not getting hauled off for a quick five minutes,” she said cheekily and he growls, giving her another kiss. Then she smacks his butt, dancing out of reach. “Shower, Daryl Dixon!”

When he gets out of the shower and into clean clothes, Beth and Judith are both in the kitchen, getting out the side of mashed potatoes that Beth is bringing to the festival. He picks Bennett up from the play pen, covering him with kisses. Judith is still wearing her big brother’s hat, paired with a pretty floral dress and cowboy boots, and finished off with a heavy knife strapped to her waist. She’s a little bit of all of them, somehow.

“Waiting on y’all,” he remarks dryly and Beth grins as she walks by him. Don’t matter how old he gets, how long he’s loved her. Daryl’s never gonna stop seeing her as an angel with a halo. And as he always does, he follows right behind her and Judith, holding tight to a little boy with his mama’s laugh and his mama’s eyes but his daddy’s serious little expression.

And yeah, things might go from bad to worse, time to time.

But sometimes they get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honored if you've made it this far folks
> 
> next up on the docket from me is a loooooong canon reunion story, i hope you all will swing back around for that guy 
> 
> in the meantime, love and blessings to you all. i live here in this story where beth and daryl got a happy ever after


End file.
